


Two in a Million

by Aevintyri



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Diminishing age difference, Dubious Consent, F/F, M/M, Modern Fantasy, Modern Royalty, Multi, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-10 02:36:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 64,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4373942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aevintyri/pseuds/Aevintyri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dipper's soulmark is exposed, revealing the name of the psychopathic Emperor Cipher, he is brought to the palace to serve the demon tyrant. No one entertains the possibility of the truth— that his soulmate is actually the king's newborn son, Bill Cipher, who grows up insanely possessive of Dipper and might possibly end up being madder than his father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dipper’s eyes were wide as he retraced the words on the faded yellow pages of his journal, desperately hoping he'd misread them. His hands clenched around the book anxiously.

_Dragon’s Tear—an extremely rare mineral with magical refractive properties—can be found deep under the earth in the Land of Serpents, or can be purchased for an indeterminate sum in the Asulon Market_.

There were so many problems with that sentence he didn’t even know where to begin. There was no way Dipper could enter the homeland of the dragons and expect to leave unscathed, or even alive. Not even an army of dragon slayers would be able to escape with all their limbs intact, let alone Dipper armed with just his journal and mediocre magical abilities. Not to mention the Asulon Market was an entirely different beast; Dipper could probably sell his soul and it would be barely enough to cover the cheapest item in the market.

But then again, the market was his only option, wasn’t it? It was all his fault, anyway. Mabel had stared into the yellow glass eyes of a Gremlobin, one that Dipper had lured to the Mystery Shack to study without thinking of the consequences. His sister had been trembling in a corner of the basement alternately pulling at her hair and scratching at the walls for the past week, and was probably witnessing unimaginable horrors in her mind as a result of his own hubris. Dipper rubbed his face with his hand, sighed, and resolutely did not think about going downstairs and joining his sister in tearing his hair out.

The Asulon Market was often described as a myth by the general populace. Those with magic, particularly immortals such as elves and demons were more convinced of its existence, but not by much. There were forums on the internet dedicated to finding information about this market, but believers were often mocked and ridiculed. There was even a Historic Channel series called _Ancient Markets_ , currently on its seventh season, which espoused completely absurd and terribly inaccurate speculation about the topic. It was kind of funny in gloriously unintentional way though, and Dipper sometimes found himself tuning in on Friday nights despite Mabel’s constant barrage of “But Dipper, wouldn’t you much rather go on a _daaate_?"

Thoughts of Mabel sobered him quickly, and he flipped through the journal, locating the page that detailed the market and began reading.

He wasn’t surprised to note that the market was located in Gravity Falls, a metropolis which had the highest concentration of magical activity and was believed to be the original birthplace of the supernatural. What was surprising however, was that it was located right under everyone’s noses hidden within The Great Underground Emporium, a world famous shopping destination consisting of everything from clothing boutiques and pet shops to strip clubs and shady stores for the occult. The cool thing about the place was that all eight levels of the emporium were located—exactly as its name suggested—underground. Even cooler was the fact that apparently it didn’t have eight levels. It had nine. The ninth, the lowest one, housed the mythical market.

Dipper couldn’t help but feel thrilled about this opportunity for adventure, which immediately turned into guilt when he remembered his purpose for the search.

Part of the reason why the market was so difficult to find was that it only appeared on the night of lunar perigee, when the moon was furthest away from the earth. According to his calendar, that was—fuck, that was just two days away, Dipper noted with no small amount of trepidation. He would have to start driving there immediately if he wanted to make it in time.

Well shit, he was never a fan of speed limits anyway.

 

* * *

 

In retrospect, Dipper probably should have come up with some semblance of a plan. He should not have spent two days on the road doing nothing but sing along to BABBA, trying to forget his impending fate. In all fairness though, there was probably only one realistic plan—theft.  Theft was looking like the only option since he had about thirty bucks in his wallet, and there was really no good strategy for stealing from an ethically questionable mythical marketplace.

As Dipper stepped through the large obsidian doorway into the Asulon Market, he took a moment to deeply regret all the life choices that had led him to his current state. It was impossible not to feel self-conscious as dozens of sharp, judgmental gazes landed on his person. A human in the lowest level was likely rare. There was a seal warding against those without magic, and the gift of magic was not often granted to mortals. Not to mention the majority of patrons here were wealthy, elite, powerful, or working on behalf of those individuals. Dipper was definitely the most peasant of peasants in this place. Probably not even a peasant to these people. An ant, maybe. Or a centipede—centipedes were more objectionable. His peculiar presence here definitely drew attention, which would make his mission of blatant robbery much harder.

He shivered a little as he looked at his surroundings. An untraceable source of red light illuminated the crowded market, casting an almost oppressive glow on the shops and buyers. He let his magic guide him through maze-like twists and turns formed by the clusters of stores, stopping with a jolt in front of his destination.

Bracing himself, he walked inside—

—and found himself face-to-face with the physical embodiment of condescension. 

A woman, most likely the shop owner, looked at him with poorly concealed distaste, blood red lips downturned slightly in a sneer and one eyebrow lightly raised in way that all aristocrats have mastered to convey, “When did this shitstain get on my shoe?” She was beautiful in a cold, clinical way, and there was no doubt in Dipper’s mind that he was engaging with a vampire. He was usually hesitant to ascribe stereotypes, but this woman was a parody of her own kind. She was dressed completely in black, her gown a reproduction of gothic fashion trends that hadn’t been in style for centuries. An ostentatious ruby necklace adorned her paper white neck, and she was wearing an actual satin cape. An _actual cape_.

“Yes?” She uttered a single word, as if Dipper wasn’t worth her extra efforts at speech.

“Just uh, browsing,” Dipper said, and winced at his own inanity. He immediately ducked his head to get away from that sharp stare, trying to look casual as he trailed his eyes across the various wares in the shop. His magic pulled his gaze to the one prize in the shop. There, nestled in an extravagant red cushion at the back of the store was a drop of Dragon’s Tear emitting a soft inconspicuous azure glow—a gem that was worth more than his life, but not more than his sister’s. 

Looking around the store he noticed that there were absolutely no security cameras. No, the market was too archaic for that. Dipper entertained the possibility that it was easier to steal from here than it was to steal from a seven-eleven and huffed out a small laugh. He walked evenly towards the object, eyes looking anywhere else to disguise his interest. Concealing the view of the rare gem behind his body, he folded one hand behind his back and quickly cast a concealment charm on the area that would prevent the shopkeeper from being able to focus her attention there. As he worked, he feigned intense interest in the taxidermic eagle head mounted on the wall. 

“Why do you have a stuffed eagle here?” He asked as innocently as possible. “Seems a little out of place considering your other wares.” She turned to follow his line of sight, and he took her momentary distraction as an opportunity to snatch the gem from its location, stuffing it down the pocket of his shorts. 

Her head snapped back at him immediately, eyes narrowed. For a second Dipper thought she had caught him. 

“It’s a Gryphon.” She hissed, obviously unamused by his apparent ignorance. 

“Oh. Sweet.” Dipper said stupidly. “Did you like…catch it yourself?” He made a little pawing gesture with his hands to indicate…mauling or something. 

Her eyes narrowed even further, and Dipper thought her pupils might disappear completely. Her patience was clearly wearing thin. 

“Purchase something or get out,” she snapped.

Dipper took that as his cue. “You know what. I love that eagle, I really do. But I have to, uh, reconsider my finances. I’ll come back next time!” He rushed for the exit, relieved when the door gave away easily—no barriers, no alarms set off. He exhaled deeply as he walked away, a rush of giddiness accompanying his triumph. He’d done it! How many humans in history could say that they’d succeeded at what he just did? 

He rounded the corners, walking until he once again found the large obsidian doorway that served as the only barrier to freedom. Was he acting too nervous or suspicious? Was there a particular way suspicious people acted? He refrained from patting his pocket to double check that the gem was still there. 

The door was only a meter away. He was almost through. Just a few more steps, and then—

—Wham! He found himself thrown backwards suddenly by an invisible barrier.

He picked his head up and looked around, disoriented by the unexpected force. Just as he got back on his feet, a group of several men came sprinting at him out of nowhere. In one second flat, a guard sent him sprawling back to the floor and pinned him to the ground by the throat, snarling.

Dipper clawed at the hand at his throat, struggling to free his blocked airway. He aimed a hard punch at the assailant’s diaphragm and the guard swiftly backhanded him hard in return. Dipper felt his head make impact on the cold, hard ground before everything turned black.

 

* * *

 

When Dipper woke up, he found himself sitting in a temporary holding cell with several other inmates. Too many thoughts raced around in his head—Mabel, market, guard, dragon, Grunkle Stan, felony—he barely had time to process any of them before he heard the doors unlock.

A timid looking guard—probably new, then—spoke hesitantly while staring at a spot on the wall. “Pines, Dipper. We need to process you into the prison system.” Dipper stood up, and the guard led him out of the cell. 

They walked into another room, where he was confronted with a new prison official standing disinterestedly next to an examination table. Two other guards stood menacingly by his side. 

“Clothes off, standard procedure,” the official said boredly. “Chop chop, come on.” He added when Dipper froze, making no move to comply. 

Dipper stared helplessly at his examiner, who gave him an unsympathetic look in return. 

“Kids these days. If you don’t even have the balls to take off your pants then maybe you should pick up some less prosecutable extracurriculars.” 

Dipper barely heard him. All his efforts were concentrated on the task of trying not to break down. This couldn’t be happening. The idea of removing his clothes was worse than the idea of rotting in a prison cell indefinitely. He had been battling this moment nearly all twenty years of his life—the moment when his autonomy would inevitably be stripped from him, and he would have to spend the rest of eternity catering to the whims of an unredeemable psychopath. There was no hiding the six bold letters etched deep into the skin of his collarbone, the mark of a lineage laying claim to his body as efficiently as they laid claim to their vast empire—wholly, completely, and brutally.

He’d spent four years looking for a magical way to sever the link and when that hadn’t worked, he’d spent two more years trying to find a way to conceal marks. It was impossible; nearly all magic inevitably bounced off it. 

The prison official, apparently tired of Dipper’s noncompliance, ordered one of his guards to see to the task instead. Dipper just stood there numbly as his shirt was forced roughly off his body.

There was a sharp intake of breath, and Dipper knew this would be the moment that everything ended for him. 

“What’s this?” One guard barked. “You think that little trick will get you out of here?” 

“No.” Another guard said, voice slightly strangled. “No. It’s not a trick. Think about it. The emperor is mad. Being his soulmate would be a fate worse than languishing in these cells for the rest of a lifetime. Why would anyone willingly take that risk?”

“Careful, that’s treason,” the head officer remarked flippantly. “Let’s finish here and then ship him off to medical. They can do a skin biopsy and determine if he’s just a crazed fanatic or not.”

And with those words, Dipper’s fate was sealed.


	2. Chapter 2

Apparently Dipper was absolved of all his crimes which was nice. What wasn’t so nice was that Mabel’s condition was still a serious concern, and instead of letting him go back to the mystery shack, Dipper was shipped straight back to the palace in his faded t-shirt and cargo shorts that he was sure had a hole somewhere uncomfortably close to his backside.

When they arrived, Dipper and his chauffer were greeted at the entrance by a slightly greying gentleman who held himself tall as he introduced himself.

“Welcome to the palace, Mr. Pines.” His voice and mannerisms were unmistakably patrician, and Dipper felt distinctly outclassed. Now was probably as good a time as any to start embracing that feeling. He would probably start encountering it quite often in this place.

“My name is Timon Kornberg. I’ve been assigned as your valet, and I will be showing you to your rooms if you would just follow me. You must be tired after your…escapade,” he said, choosing his words diplomatically. “Rest for now. We have limited time to prepare for your meeting with the emperor tomorrow night.”

Dipper nodded faintly, overwhelmed as he took in the vastness of the palace. He’d visited once on a school trip when he was very young, but it had felt much less intimidating then. He’d experienced it divorced from the dense weight of expectations and fear, back when he was too naïve to distrust the royal propaganda—before he could read between the lines of carefully worded history lessons to form his own opinions on the blood and corpses upon which the Ciphers established their rule.

By the age of twelve most children usually had a good idea that their sovereign would not be winning humanitarian awards any time soon. After all it wasn’t like the Ciphers ruled through idealistic kindness and altruism, handing out lollipops and free rights from atop their ivory tower—more like through ruthlessness and brutality which inspired a fearful god-like reverence from their subjects.

Dipper followed Kornberg past the entrance hall through an expansive courtyard that was almost too picturesque to exist in reality, then finally up a few flights of stairs. They navigated through endless hallways before finally stopping in front of a large mahogany door.

“Here you are, Mr. Pines. This will be your temporary suite. I have left you a set of sleeping clothes on the bed, and the bath is inside your suite. If you should need anything there’s a phone with a directory on the table next to the dresser. The Wi-Fi password can be found there as well.”

Dipper nodded faintly. “Thanks.”

“Of course. I hope you have a pleasant night. Please rest, as you’ll need it for tomorrow.” He departed, and Dipper pushed the doors open to find himself in a luxuriously spacious suite. While the palace and by extension its rooms were architecturally an elegant mixture of Baroque and Gothic, the décor in his room was sleek and modern. The three large windows spanning nearly the entire height of the furthest wall were intricately carved and detailed, setting up a nice juxtaposition with the almost minimalist furniture. Soft light from the moon poured into the room through large panes, encasing the entire room in a bluish white glow.

Dipper found the adjoined bathroom and took a quick shower before grabbing the clothes on his bed and putting them on. The pajamas were too silky, too indulgently fine; they were clearly meant to be comfortable but they accomplished the exact opposite, making him feel uncertain in his own skin.

He sighed and flopped onto the bed, too tired to do fuck-all. Yet try as he might he couldn’t go to sleep. The room was too enormous, the bed too soft, and the fabrics surrounding him too delicate and smooth.

Instead, he found himself absentmindedly tracing the mark on his collarbone, from the elegant, slightly slanted _C_ through to the smaller subdued _r_ , his fingers long familiar with the exact shape and placement of his letters. Soulmarks had always been fascinating to Dipper, especially in an anthropological sense. Most cultures revered the mark as a symbol of the most profound form of connection between two beings. Yet, over the course of history the probability of soulmate encounters had begun to dwindle even though everyone was still born bearing a mark. The mechanism underlying this decrease was unknown, although there were a multitude of theories on the matter.

Mathematicians and statisticians argued that as the world opened up and globalization increased the number of human connections available to each person, the probability of finding one’s soulmate in a vastly larger population pool decreased.

Some scientists hypothesized that soulmarks were slowly becoming vestigial and unnecessary as a result of evolutionary processes rendering them disadvantageous.

Many magical races, on the other hand, maintained that the amount of magic in the world was in a constantly fluctuating state of ebb and flow, and they simply saw the decline in soulmate matches as a natural indication that magic was in its ebbing phase. Dipper wasn’t entirely sure where he stood on soulmarks, but he still preferred the latter explanation the most; it was the least pessimistic in his opinion.

Regardless of the reason, the fact of the matter was that soulmatches were appearing with low regularity, and because of this rarity they were often romanticized and celebrated to a significant extent. Yet because of reasons like practicality or love born of free agency, most people chose to take their fate into their own hands, forming bonds and relationships which were just as strong as satisfactory as soulbonds.

Dipper wondered about the soulmark that complemented his own, the one presumably inked on a demonic ruler’s skin. While most people had their soulmate’s names marked on their body, the Ciphers were an exception. Instead, their marks always consisted of a series of random symbols that originated from no known language—cryptograms that seemed to require some sort of undetermined cipher to translate, hence their name. Historically, those of the Cipher lineage never found their soulmates. There were stories, however, that the Cipher who first consolidated their empire more than a millennia ago had found his soulmate and solved the Cipher but kept it a secret for political reasons. There were no records of this allegedly cracked Cipher though, and it was little more than a legend anyways.

Dipper’s situation—now that was unprecedented. As he finally slipped into darkness, he briefly worried that the press was going to eat him alive.

 

* * *

 

The next day was spent in chaotic whirl of numerous tasks consisting of a palace tour, a garden brunch, an introductory meeting with a few lawyers, and an appointment with a tailor as well as a personal shopper. The shopper, a chic-looking woman about Dipper’s age, took one look at him, made a face, and came back a few hours later with finer clothes for him to wear for his meeting. He was somewhat grateful that he wouldn’t be showing up to a meeting with a royal sporting holes in his pants, although if he had it his way the meeting wouldn’t be happening at all.

 He was so worn out by the end of it all that he wondered if there was a law against falling asleep in the presence of the emperor. He supposed it was good that he felt so numb. That would probably dull the terror he’d inevitably feel when facing the nation’s favorite psychopath.

Dipper was sprawled on the bed waiting for the inevitable summon when the anticipated knock on his door came. He got up to open the door, where Kornberg greeted him with a tentative look of encouragement. “Sir, the emperor is waiting for you in the throne room.” Dipper inwardly sighed. Of course Cipher would request they meet in the throne room. They couldn’t just meet over wine and dinner like normal people.

“Do I look okay?” Dipper asked nervously. He hoped his clothes hadn’t rumpled from rolling around in bed.

“It will do, Mr. Pines,” Kornberg said with a nearly imperceptible expression of pity. “Good luck.”

“Sure. Thanks, I guess.” He steeled himself and headed out, making his way through high arched corridors and somehow ended up finding his destination despite the fact that his brain capacity was at about fifty percent.

Emperor Phoenix Cipher, when Dipper finally met him, was both everything he expected and nothing at all.

Cipher was lounging on his infamously macabre throne, its base supported by four different statues of grotesquely mutated men, each kneeling with their arms raised to hold up their corner of the large stone throne. Their misshapen heads were raised towards the seat’s occupant, mouths open and distorted in a mixture of horror and agony. Dipper had always thought that the statues were simply designed to be morbid and fearsome. Here, seeing them in real life he had doubts; they looked oddly lifelike and realistic, as if they were petrified versions of once-living beings.

The red-eyed demon king himself was sprawled lazily across the throne, postured more like a rebellious teenager who had somehow found his way into the seat than any kind of ruthless monarch that was currently waging a very successful and bloody war on three fronts. He had the appearance of a young man of a fairly ambiguous age, somewhere in his twenties or thirties, although in reality Dipper knew the monarch had ruled for at least a century. The emperor was slimmer and less broadly imposing than his propaganda posters and media shots suggested, although this made him no less intimidating. He exuded more magical power than anyone Dipper had ever met, and that was on top of the power conferred to him by his status. He had on a sharp, decadent suit over a silky deep red button up—an anachronistic image against the grotesque medieval-like aesthetic of his throne.

Dipper grudgingly admitted that the demon was attractive, although that was unsurprising given his lineage. The Ciphers had always had a reputation in that regard.

As Dipper approached, the emperor swung his legs, which had been casually slung over one of the chair’s arms, back to the front of the throne, planting them gracefully on the ground and leaning forward to appraise his guest with curiosity.

Platinum silver hair fell over one of his blood-colored eyes, both of which were focused on Dipper with a nerve wracking intensity. Dipper stopped halfway across the room, not sure how to proceed, and looked up at Cipher with uncertainly written on his face.

The emperor smirked at his hesitance. “Come closer,” he beckoned. His voice was cool and dispassionate but tainted with a hint of mischief and cruelty.

Dipper shuffled a few feet forward. His limbs all of a sudden felt awkward and gangly so he stuck his hands in his pockets.

“No. Right…here.” Cipher tapped his shoe on the ground a mere foot away from his throne, bearing a smile that looked more threatening than welcoming. His grin was full of pointy teeth.

Dipper swallowed and complied.

“Now. The mark. Show me,” the emperor commanded. Dipper felt a sense of déjà vu at once again being forcefully exposed, but this time it was different he supposed. This was for his soulmate, who had more of a right to ask this of him. His shaky hands reached for the buttons on his dress shirt, unfastening them and pulling the fabric away to reveal the letters.

The demon suddenly reached up and swiftly pulled Dipper down by the hair, forcing him to his knees. He brushed his fingers over the mark, and Dipper felt an inexplicable sense of just…wrongness at the touch, wanting to recoil. That wasn’t supposed to happen, was it? Cipher lightly traced his own name on Dipper’s skin before abruptly digging his fingernails harshly into the mark. Dipper stifled a noise of protest, wincing as sharp nails cut deep into his skin. Blood welled up in the indents before dripping down slowly, forming trails of red against his pale chest. Cipher stared at them with fascination while Dipper held his breath, frozen in place.

The demon dragged his eyes back up to Dipper’s face, leaning back in his throne.

“So. Dipper Pines, is it?” Dipper nodded, annoyance starting to build up at the superfluous displays of power.

“Tell me, Dipper. What do soulmates mean to you? How would you anticipate this newfound _connection_ proceeding?”

Dipper tasted bitterness in his mouth at these meaningless questions. It wasn’t like he would be able to dictate the terms of their bond. Not with a power-hungry tyrant on the other end of it.

“I’ll stay out of your way and you’ll stay out of mine?” Dipper suggested, a hint of insubordination inadvertently slipping into his tone.

“Adorable. You know that won’t be happening.” Cipher’s eyes briefly flickered to the mark possessively.

“And why not?” Dipper asked in frustration, voice rising slightly. “You have an empire to rule, colonies to wrangle, people to behead, etcetera. You definitely have no shortage of lovers. In fact, you have a newborn son. It wouldn’t cost you a single thing to just pretend this never happened and let me go. Please, just let me—my sister needs my help.”

“Your sister is in trouble?” Cipher asked slyly, choosing to focus solely on that aspect. “How about that? Sounds like an issue someone with the near-limitless resources of an entire empire could assist with,” he continued casually, waving his hand to gesture at his expansive throne room for effect.

“You want to…help?” Dipper said skeptically.

Cipher swooped down until he was eye level with the other man, their faces inches apart. “But what can you do for me in return?” He grinned smugly, lewd insinuation in his tone.

Dipper was not about to play that game. Instead, he took a moment to collect his thoughts and analyze his advantages, before finally letting out a soft breath and steeling himself to negotiate.

“Image is powerful isn’t it?” He began levelly. “No one of the Cipher lineage has found their soulmate in more than a millennia, and the last Cipher to have allegedly done so was the one who built this empire. The symbolism of this soulmate match is compelling, and when the people find out a Cipher has found his match I can guarantee that it will mean something to them. I can give you my compliance, help you build the destined-to-rule narrative and consolidate your influence, staving off any challenge to your throne.” Dipper continued desperate to make his case. “You know there’s been dissent regarding your choice to war with the fae. This could help.”

The emperor stared at him for a long time, eyes narrowed. For a while Dipper was afraid he would be offed for his audacity, soulmates be damned.

Then the corner of the demon’s mouth turned up forming a wicked grin. “You are not what I expected, Dipper Pines. I’m a little impressed—but,” Cipher’s eyes darkened. “It is dangerous to try and negotiate with me in my own empire. Remember this: _I have all the power_. If I wanted your compliance, I would not have to ask for it.”

“Now,” the emperor continued. “Anyone who has heard of me will claim I do not have a soul—and they’re probably right. I do not have use for a soul, so I have no use for a soulmate either. I have no use for emotional ties in general and I take into bed whoever I want, whenever I please. You’re right in that you will be useful for my political image but understand you’re worth no more to me than that. You are absolutely pleasing to the eye and close to the epitome of everything I desire in a bed partner…” He traced his thumb lightly across Dipper’s mouth. “…And I would like to have you sometime, but my interest wanes very quickly and it is likely you will soon only be useful for symbolic value. Keep in mind that if you are ever a threat to my rule I will not hesitate to dispose of you.”

“And finally, I will graciously agree to help your sister but you will not get to see her. You’re not going home again. It’s time to get accustomed to that.”

And then with a small flick of the demon’s wrist, Dipper was dismissed just like that.

Dipper spent the rest of the night hurling furniture and breakables at his bedroom wall, crying and shouting until he passed out on the floor dangerously close to a pile of ceramic vase fragments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit after posting this chapter it was brought to my attention that it wasn't obvious the emperor is Bill's father, not Bill (who hasn't been introduced yet) so I edited a little for clarity.


	3. Chapter 3

> **THE IMPERIAL TIMES**
> 
> **Cipher Soulmate Match Officially Confirmed**
> 
> GRAVITY FALLS, Psykhestris—After more than two millennia without a soulmate match manifesting for a member of the royal line, destiny has finally interceded in the form of Dipper Pines, a young, highly promising human mage whom acquaintances describe as “lively,” “charismatic,” and “remarkably intelligent.”
> 
> In a statement released by the emperor and his council on Friday, the emperor declared:  “This gift must be indication of divine approval regarding my tenure and decisions as a sovereign.” The venerated ruler also interpreted this momentous occasion to be an “auspicious sign that my council and I are destined to lead this empire through a golden era of greatness.” After all, the last member of the royal lineage to have allegedly found his soulmate was the exalted Emperor William I, who united the empire under his benevolent guidance. The parallels are clear, and they seem to prophesize great future success for this regime.
> 
> Despite the modest economic decline wrought by Emperor Phoenix’s ongoing war against the corrupt fae government, the monarchy will be throwing a grand party to commemorate the occasion.
> 
> “I want my people to be rewarded with a public celebration that will be accessible to all regardless of race, magical status, or socioeconomic class,” the emperor stated. “Hopefully this will be a celebration that fosters unity within the empire, bringing together demons, mortals, elves, monsters, as well as the poor, the rich, magical, non-magical…”
> 
> This public ceremony will be followed by a private ritual to grant the emperor’s soulmate immortal status, allowing him to remain by the emperor’s side…
> 
> _Continued on A3, Col. 1_

 

 

> Celebrity! Magazine
> 
> **The Unimaginable Has Happened: Is Phoenix Cipher Really Off the Market?**
> 
> The sound of millions of hearts breaking simultaneously filled the air this morning as news of the emperor’s fulfilled soulbond was announced. The demon formerly considered to be the most eligible bachelor in the kingdom, arguably in the entire world, was notorious for his infamous and frequent trysts. Of course, there might also have been sighs of relief underscoring the sounds of heartbreak, since it was rumored that not every partner escaped these passionate encounters unscathed. What isn’t attractive about a powerful, dangerous, and perhaps violently unbalanced man though, right?
> 
> The lucky winner of the emperor’s affections is the endearing but otherwise unremarkable Dipper Pines, a human mage from the nondescript town of Gold Hill slightly north of Gravity Falls. Soulmate or not, will he be able to keep Cipher’s fickle attentions?
> 
> After all, the last time we were alarmed by the possibility of the emperor romantically committing—speculation incited by the arrival of his son Bill Cipher—an engagement never came to pass. The identity of the prince’s mother has remained unknown and irrelevant, and the emperor was seen picking up A-list actress Marilyn Taylor just weeks after the prince’s birth. Monogamy just doesn’t seem to be in the man’s vocabulary, but will a soulmate make all the difference? Romantics say yes, but skeptics will argue that a match doesn’t always guarantee eternal happiness, so maybe there’s still hope for the thrill-seeking ladies and gentlemen looking for a little fun…
> 
> [Read More]

 

* * *

 

The good news was that the emperor simply lost interest in Dipper after a few months, the way all spoiled people of power quickly lost interest in shiny new toys. There were, however, a few deplorable encounters in the beginning of their acquaintance that Dipper had squared away thoroughly in the back of his mind, and if he had nightmares about it occasionally then that was his own business.

The plan had worked essentially. They appeared together and were photographed occasionally for the purposes of public image, and the public believed it for the most part. After a while, negotiations between Dipper and the emperor regarding media manipulation were mostly accomplished through third parties, which, thank fuck, because he didn’t want to deal with that creep any more than he had to.

Despite the circumstances, he still felt a guilty sense of disappointment that this was all a soulbond amounted to. He had been led to think it would make him feel loved and cherished, and felt cheated in a way he hadn’t expected to feel. On the other hand, he was relieved by the fact that he wouldn’t falsely love and worship someone who clearly wanted nothing from him. Perhaps not all bonds were like this; perhaps Dipper was just unlucky to have another half who contained the bare minimum of a soul. Yet, historically even the cruelest of dictators had some capacity for, if not love, then at least something other than apathy such as obsession or favoritism.

Dipper didn’t understand.

To add to the injustice of the situation, not only was Dipper thoroughly rejected and alone, but he also really missed his magic; he missed the electric feel of pure energy flowing through his body to the tips of his fingers. Before this whole mess, he’d regularly used his powers to help clients solve magical problems big or small, which ranged from weaving a spell to keep leprecorns out of Lazy Susan’s backyard, to exorcising a millennia-old spirit from a haunted mansion. Because of the two bracelets on his wrists set in place to negate magic though, he hadn’t been able to access his powers in months. He couldn’t draw from his magical core, which simmered uncomfortably within him and felt ready to burst with excess energy. It made him restless, and he was bouncing off the walls.

It didn’t help at all that he was locked in his room most of the time, with two guards constantly posted outside his door. The guards were continually switching, following an alternating weekly schedule. Dipper had hoped that at least _one_ of them would be receptive to his attempts to befriend them, but all efforts were met with deafening silence. His best quips were received with resolute apathy. A fist-bump probably would’ve been too much to hope for, but they wouldn’t even respond in the form of an eyebrow raise or a grunt of annoyance. He was prohibited from having company, and there was nothing to do save for browse the web on the computer he’d begged for. Even that was a double-edged victory though, because communication outside was prohibited and his internet access was strictly monitored, giving them just another way to control him. When he tried for the thousandth time to send an email to Mabel and found his request denied, he couldn’t help the angry impulse that led to his keyboard in pieces on the ground along with his optimism, and he was too jaded to muster up the pride to plead for a new one.

Occasionally Dipper would be granted permission to visit the gardens or the palace library for a short time, a privilege he usually felt grateful for before remembering that he was still a prisoner, which would bring him right back to a state of bitter resentment. Whenever he left his room he was always accompanied by the two guards who followed stringent orders to restrict who he could talk to, presumably keeping him from making connections and spilling state secrets and such, and made sure he couldn’t find a way off the palace grounds.

Anytime he had the chance, Dipper ended up roaming the aisles of the breathtakingly exquisite and seemingly never-ending library, relishing the imposing feel of being surrounded by an endless forest of towering bookshelves. It was also a moment of reprieve from his guards, who often realized pretty quickly that Dipper was literally just going to sit and read actual books in an actual library, and parked themselves on a couch in the main room to wait. After all, the tracker embedded in Dipper’s bracelet would let them know if their charge tried to ditch the library.

Honestly, the one redeemable part of this whole awful arrangement was the library. Before Dipper had been in this whole predicament, he remembered declaring to Mabel that he would sell his soul for a chance to explore the vast body of knowledge in the mysterious palace library. Now that he’d actually sold his soul, though, it was decidedly not worth it. The book rooms were still just as amazing as he imagined they would be, however. The interior of the library in all its splendor and grandiosity was much larger than it theoretically should have been based on the exterior size of the palace wing it occupied. Dipper speculated that there was an advanced magical spell in place to allow such a phenomena—either that or some sort of technology which manipulated quantum entanglement, but perhaps these two things were more similar than people would like to admit.

During one of Dipper’s explorations, he accidentally stumbled upon an intriguing little hidden alcove within the general magic section which could only be entered by squeezing through a small gap between the end of one bookcase and the northernmost wall of the room. The bookcase in question contained a bunch of outdated and extremely technical texts concerning alchemy, so it probably led a very lonely existence. Not many would look there to happen across the concealed entrance, but Dipper had always had a knack for being drawn to mysteriously secretive places. Sometimes this was a good thing, such as when he found a hideout containing one of his greatest possessions: an encyclopedic journal on magic of unknown origins. Other times this was not such a good thing, like when he stumbled upon Old Man McGucket doing questionable things with an animatronic bear and a goat on a secret altar in the woods.

“This isn’t what it looks like!” McGucket had shouted, wide-eyed, when he spotted Dipper.

“I have no idea what that looks like,” Dipper had yelled back, turning right around and walking away instantly.

The hidden alcove in the palace library was filled with dusty old books containing knowledge found nowhere else in the world. In one corner he found an eclectic collection of books on largely forgotten myths and lore next to a collection of texts oddly niche sets of magic spells. In fact, there was an entire book on the magical processes and theory behind spinning straw into gold. He wondered who had compiled this oddball collection. All of the books in the room were published centuries ago, but he wasn’t sure whether that said something about the collector’s tastes or the era in which the collection was amassed.

While his monitors could oversee and restrict his electronic browsing, they had no way of monitoring the books he read, so he figured his best chance of evading his strict security was by gleaning knowledge through physical texts.  If there was information on nonstandard or rare magics here, he could try and see if there was anything useful for unbinding his magic or for reversing the effects of his immortality. He refused to live centuries shackled to an amoral despot, and he hated the idea of living that much longer than his twin. The idea of living a timeline disjoined from Mabel’s felt unnatural and unbearable to consider. It was an almost inconceivable thought, especially since they’d celebrated every single birthday together.

For the most part Dipper passed his days plotting his escape to no avail, fantasizing every night about blowing a hole through the ostentatiously gilded palace rooftop and flying away on the back of a nonspecific avian creature.

 

* * *

 

 Months later, Dipper’s salvation finally arrived in the form of a highly unexpected source.

He was having a nightmare. The grotesque statues under the king’s throne were coming to life, all four of them crawling towards him with hollow eyes as they begged him to release them from their prison. Flies emerged from their gaping mouths, filling the room with chaos.

“I can’t, I can’t. I’m trapped here, too!” Dipper cried as he tripped over his own feet and landed on his behind. He continued stumbling backwards inelegantly until his back met a cold stone pillar.

“Please,” he sobbed. “I can’t stop him. I can’t. I couldn’t. Not even when…” He swallowed, unable to finish his sentence. He pleaded and pleaded, but they wouldn’t stop crawling forwards, climbing over him and smothering his screa—

He woke up dazed and relieved that it was simply a nightmare, only to realize that there were real hands muffling his mouth.

He moved to cry out for help, until a voice suddenly whispered.

“Shh, shh…Dipper, buddy, it’s me!”

Dipper’s eyes widened in instant recognition, and he stopped struggling in surprise.

“Soos?!” He whispered furiously, incredulity coloring his tone.

Soos has worked for Grunkle Stan in the mystery shack when Dipper was younger, but moved away to be with his long distance girlfriend, Melody, when things started getting serious between them. He and Mabel talked with Soos through video chat sometimes, but the three of them weren’t as close as they used to be. Dipper hadn’t realized how much he’d missed Soos until the other man was standing in front of him. Soos was like a brother to him, especially since the Pines had performed that fake adoption ceremony for him on one of his birthdays, when his real father once again failed to show up on account of being too busy. Cruising. In Maui.

“Soos, what are you doing here?” Dipper asked disbelievingly.

“Surprise? I’m one of your new bodyguards!” Soos gave him a toothy grin.

Dipper’s jaw dropped. “How on earth did you get this position?”

“Uh, long story, dude. So Melody helped me get hired as a security guard at the bank she works at, and I was really good at it. Apparently robbers get really weirded out and confused if you make faces like this,” Soos pulled the tip of his nose up to imitate a snout. “While making pig noises in the middle of a robbery. I was just trying to lighten the mood, you know. It was getting so serious in there, with all those people on the floor with their hands up.”

“Well anyway,” he went on. “So the guy was busy looking really baffled, and I was like, dude, maybe I should just sort of…tackle him, so I did. My boss was like super impressed and he recommended me for this job here. Just between us though, I think my boss was also kind of weirded out by me and wanted me out of there. But then I was like, perfect! Maybe I can see my old buddy Dipper again, and here I am!”

Dipper just stared for a while before suddenly snorting with laughter, tackling Soos into a hug. “Man, Soos, never change. That’s incredible. Only you.”

“I am pretty awesome. Well, ‘nuff about me. How’ve you been holding up here? I’ve heard the king is kinda…” He leaned in to whisper in Dipper’s ear. “… _evil_.”

Dipper’s smile dimmed immediately at the mention of their ruler.

“It’s god awful here, Soos. Cipher is as terrible and cruel as the stories, and I’m trapped here forever. With him.” Dipper said as he stared down at his hands helplessly. It felt good finally telling this to somebody. He hadn’t had the chance to speak frankly with anyone since he arrived here.

“Dude. Aren’t you guys…soulmates or something? Shouldn’t you be out gallivanting through fields of—well, not daisies, but like…decapitated heads maybe?”

“He doesn’t care,” Dipper said bitterly. “Not that I particularly _want_ him to care, but I want to not be trapped here for the remainder of my now unfortunately long life without being able to see Mabel, or Sta—” Dipper paused, eyes abruptly lighting up in excitement. “Wait a minute…Soos!”

“Dipper!”

“Now what you’re here, you can communicate for me! Pass messages to the mystery shack! Have you seen Mabel? How is she? Do you know how Stan is doing?” Once he started, all the questions just came pouring out. “How’s the mystery shack? Is it bankrupt yet? Have you been back?”

“Woah, woah. Be chill, dude. Mabel’s all fixed. Stan’s been grouchy as ever, so that means the mystery shack probably hasn’t been blown up yet and everything’s cool on that end.”

Dipper let out a deep breath. It felt good knowing that everyone was managing without him. Plus, he’d finally found an ally in the palace, which meant his freedom and opportunities would be drastically increased.

A belated thought suddenly occurred to him. “Hold up. Where’s my other bodyguard and how did you get in here without him noticing? Won’t he be suspicious?”

Soos chuckled. “Oh, I forgot to mention. I’m partnered with Carlos. He’s Melody’s cousin, and he got transferred from the bank with me. He’s also super chill. Love that guy. Don’t worry about him.”

After spending so long feeling hope and resilience slowly drain away, Dipper couldn’t believe his luck at hearing that. To be fair though, the universe definitely did owe him one for saddling him with such a shitty partner. For the first time in months, everything was finally looking up.

 

* * *

 

 

> Mabel,
> 
>  
> 
> Soos tells me you’re doing fine, but I have to know for myself so for the first time in about a decade I’m going to invoke the unicorn test. I know we haven’t done this since we were, like, twelve, but for my peace of mind I want you to draw me a sincere picture of a dancing happy unicorn. And don’t try to fake it, because I know that when you’re upset the unicorn always ends up lopsided and frowny.
> 
> I’m not going to lie and say everything’s perfectly okay on my end, but I have Soos here with me now so it’ll be fine. You’re probably wondering how meeting our nation’s most beloved psychopath turned out. It wasn’t pretty. I had a few disastrous altercations with Cipher in the beginning, but I think he’ll be leaving me alone for the most part going forwards. He didn’t magically become less of a dick after meeting me, which is unfortunate for me as well as for public policy.
> 
> Basically everything that we were afraid of happening upon discovery of the mark has happened. He’s also keeping me trapped in court under heavy supervision since I’m convenient for his political plans. As a result I’ve been spending a lot of time in the palace library doing research, trying to figure out an escape strategy. (And yes, the library is everything my nerdy little heart wanted, thank you very much.) They have a tracker on me and my powers are blocked by a magic negating bracelet though, so it’s a bit of a slow struggle. There’s still hope and I’ll make my way back to you guys, I promise.
> 
> In the meantime, how’ve you been, sis? Update me.
> 
> Oh, and tell Stan not to worry, although he’d never admit it out loud.
> 
>  
> 
> Miss you lots,
> 
> Dipper ~~~~

 

The week that Soos was on duty was the best. He had Soos help him purchase a semi-decent old car using some of the insurance money from his parents’ car accident, which felt somewhat darkly ironic. At night he slipped out using one of the many possible paths he’d figured out with Soos’s help, and drove the car an hour or so north to the woods where he could freely explore and compile research notes like he used to. The forest smelled like warmth and safety, and the sensation of sturdy rough tree bark against his back felt oddly comforting.

It was miserable having to return every day before dawn, but there was no way to abandon the palace forever without Soos or Melody’s cousin taking the fall for his disappearance. The most lenient penalty for that was execution. He didn’t want to think about the worst penalty. Besides, there was also the matter of the tracker embedded in his bracelet which he hadn’t managed to deactivate yet. Still, there were times when he was tempted to just lie down on the sweet dirt and fall asleep to the sound of cicadas, waking up only when civilization fell and nature was the only state left in the world.

 

* * *

 

Two months passed much too slowly after Soos’s first departure, but the next time Soos arrived he plucked a letter out of his pocket with a huge satisfied grin. Dipper couldn’t tear the envelope open fast enough, heart thudding loudly in anticipation.

 

 

> Bro-bro!
> 
>  
> 
> Here’s your unicorn. I tried. It might look a little deranged because I tried _too_ hard, but it’s possible you wouldn’t have noticed so maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m worried about you, Dipper.
> 
> I feel really bad that you’re in this position, and I hope you’re doing all right despite everything. I’m glad that your nerdy little heart is satisfied with large stack of books, but try not to fall in love with the library too much because we’re doing everything possible to get you out of there. Anything short of robbing a mythical marketplace, anyway, because that didn’t work out so well for the last dumb idiot who tried. That’s you Dipper. You’re the dumb idiot who tried. In case you didn’t get that. Grunkle Stan is also an experienced veteran when it comes to evading and/or defying the government so he should have some feasible ideas. It’ll all work out.
> 
> Life is all right here. Art school started up again so that’s been keeping me busy. Oh and also, I recently went out on date! This is not your typical Mabel Pines date story, though, so don’t worry.
> 
> About a week ago I noticed this guy stalk me into a coffee shop, where he took a seat and just sort of watched me. Since I was not about to let that kind of behavior fly, I marched up to him and demanded to know what his problem was. It turned out he wasn’t really creepy, just very awkward and stilted, like he didn’t understand social etiquette and never figured out that following someone is inappropriate. He talked in a weirdly gallant manner, with a strange unplaceable accent and just kept apologizing, so I took pity on him asked if he wanted to grab food sometime. I mean, he wasn’t bad looking and it’s not like I was going to sit around forever waiting for my soulmate to just…show up.
> 
> Well basically the date sucked and he was bizarre. Since he was excessively chivalrous in an outdated kind of way, I tried to ask him if he was from one of those weird western countries or maybe the elven or fae realms, but he got really evasive. Later on when I questioned him about his occupation, he said something really vague about living to serve the court before suddenly claiming he had an emergency, or in his words, “unforeseen extenuating circumstances,” and rushing out. He was so odd. I think he even called me “milady” at some point, which was kind of nice, until he fled and _left me with the bill._ Unbe-fucking-lievable. If I ever see him again…argh.
> 
> Well anyways, stay safe, but feel free to not stay out of trouble. We’ll see each other soon, k?
> 
>  
> 
> Hugs and kisses,
> 
> The superior Pines twin

 

For a few months, everything was golden. Exchanging letters back and forth with Mabel, planning their meetup—life was looking up.

And then one day Mabel simply vanished.

Grunkle Stan came home one day to an empty room—no note, no anything. Mabel hadn’t packed any belongings or clothes with an intent on leaving, and there was no sign of a break-in or a struggle. The police found neither forensic evidence of abduction nor magical residue indicating the use of a spell. No eyewitnesses had seen anything, either. The case was under investigation for about a month before it was closed, permanently.

Dipper remembered reading somewhere that fifty percent of bereaved twins died within two years. For months, he turned this statistic around in his mind during sleepless nights, examining the dark thought whenever he felt particularly lonely or trapped.

Yet, there was still an overpowering feeling of hope in his chest; it didn’t _feel_ like he’d lost the link to his sister. And it was this possibility that he clutched on to as the years passed, and there was still no trace of Mabel.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For clarification, time skips will be denoted in italics, followed in parenthesis by Dipper and Bill's ages, respectively. Dipper has been twenty since the start of this story, and because he was granted immortality by the emperor he will remain twenty for the foreseeable future. Bill was just born at the beginning of the story. Sorry for any confusion.

_Nine Years Later (Dipper 20, Bill 09)_

 

The rosy golden glow of sunrise settled across the horizon, but Dipper had no time to appreciate the view since he was busy scrambling across the palace lawn, trying to sneak back to his room before the servants would expect him in the dining room for breakfast. His shoes made crunching noises as they treaded fresh grass adorned with small dew droplets, the wetness chilling the canvas of his sneakers.

He was just about to climb the large oak tree leading to a window on the second floor when a small golden blur suddenly came crashing into his side, causing him to twist and land on his back with a thud. Dipper got back on his feet with a groan, upset at the disturbance delaying his frantic attempt to return quickly. After recovering from disorientation, he looked towards the source of the disturbance and was shocked to find that it was not an object, but a person. A Bill Cipher, to be exact—the one and only heir to the throne of Psykhestris.

That was the first time Dipper had laid eyes on the prince in person, which wasn’t surprising as Dipper’s movements were confined to a very small space in a very gigantic palace. The prince was also too young to make public appearances at any of the palace functions that Dipper was required to attend, and so they’d never met.

The boy had wild corn-colored hair, with matching gold-amber eyes that reflected the glow of the sunrise, amplifying their ochre hue. There was something about the kid that made him appear disconcertingly feral, which was saying something because Dipper had just returned from dealing with a raging Minotaur wholly unfazed by the experience. Perhaps it was the way his grin was full of teeth much sharper than Dipper’s own, or maybe the way his eyes gleamed darkly and mischievously in a way that seemed to demand the excitement of bloodshed.

“Ooh, and who do we have here?” The kid cackled impishly, gleeful at the prospect of having caught someone doing something inappropriate.

Dipper’s heart raced as he struggled to quickly come up with an explanation.

“I’m a palace gardener. I was inspecting…this tree.” He rapped his knuckles against the trunk of the tree he was about to climb. “Adequately sturdy,” Dipper assessed with a nod of approval. He turned around to make a quick exit, but a hand darted out to grab his arm. The prince had a surprisingly strong grip for someone so small. Dipper had almost forgotten he wasn’t dealing with a normal human child.

The boy’s eyes were narrowed in annoyance. “Don’t dare presume I’m stupid just because I’m young. I know who you are, Dipper Pines. And I assume you know me, but in case you’re astoundingly uninformed, I’m William Cipher. I hate that name, though. Call me Bill.”

Dipper swallowed nervously. He hadn’t expected the prince to be so startlingly precocious and shrewd. In retrospect it wasn’t exactly surprising that a member of the lineage who’d dominated their empire for millennia would be disconcertingly intelligent, but Dipper had no idea this intelligence would begin manifesting at such a young age; he was about nine, if Dipper remembered correctly. If Bill had him all figured out, then Dipper was screwed. This was it. He would be confined to the palace so strictly that he’d never be allowed to see daylight again.

“I can tell you came from the woods,” the boy continued. “You smell like pine trees.” He suddenly snatched the book Dipper was holding out of his hands and leafed through it. As his eyes skimmed the pages, a little grin slowly formed on his face.

After a moment Bill finally looked up, a wicked smile adorning his face.

“We should make a deal, Pine Tree,” he said in a sing-song voice. Dipper automatically cringed at the words. Deals with demons were remarkably ill-advised, but Dipper already had his back to the wall so he might as well hear Bill out. There was no way he couldn’t outsmart a nine year old, right?

“What terms are you suggesting?” Dipper asked suspiciously.

“Eaaasy peasy. I can see from your journal that you explore magical areas. Take me with you and my lips are sealed about this encounter, simple as that. Then I’d have something to lose by being a tattletale.”

“Why on earth would you want to come with me?” Dipper asked, eyes narrowed. “Can’t you just, I don’t know…order someone to accompany you?”

Bill’s hands clenched. “It’s not as easy as that. The emperor doesn’t think I’m old enough to acquire the knowledge I want. He says that it’ll be a long, long while until my time to rule, so I should just ‘take it easy’ since I’m still young. Well, taking it easy isn’t exactly my style. And now you see my predicament—one that I seem to have found the ideal solution to,” he replied, eyes gleaming as he looked at Dipper.

Dipper found it odd that Bill referred to Phoenix by his title like everyone else rather than addressing him as “father,” but brushed the thought aside to voice his objections.

“You’re asking me to take the nine year old sole heir to the throne on field trips to _dangerous places_ on _purpose_ when I can barely fend off monsters myself with my currently nonexistent magical abilities?”

“I’m almost ten,” Bill retorted.

“Oh my god. That is such a nine year old response that it in no way helps your case.”

“I’m hardly defenseless,” Bill replied, rolling his eyes. “Do you think that generations of Ciphers have managed to stay on the throne for so long by being easily killed off at the age of nine?”

The young demon held out a hand with his palms facing upwards. A bright blue flame appeared in his hand, a small flicker which grew larger and larger in size until it engulfed his entire body, rendering his eyes icy blue in place of their usual golden hue.

“Plus,” Bill added cheerfully when the flamed subsided. “Let me come or lose your freedom. Isn’t that an easy choice, Pine Tree?”

“You mean get myself executed or lose my freedom?” Bill just looked at him expectantly, and Dipper sighed. “All right. You win. Stop calling me Pine Tree.”

“Perfect. See you ‘round, Pine Tree!” Bill shouted as he dashed away with a cheeky wave.

Dipper hated everything.

 

* * *

 

There was no way Dipper was stupid enough to bring the heir of a whole goddamned empire anywhere the boy could risk injury beyond a scraped knee. He rather liked his head’s current position atop his shoulders, thank you very much. As a consequence, Dipper tried to venture solely to places he could keep the danger level low. So far on their unsanctioned field trips they’d only encountered relatively tame creatures, like a camp of overly domestic dwarves, miniature trolls the size of sparrows, and a swamp housing toads that vomited glitter when prodded.

Today the plan was to search for a group of skittish but supposedly friendly satyrs that dwelled within forest caves, which seemed like a nice, safe bet. Yet, what Dipper was seeing in the cave they were standing in was definitely not a satyr.

No, it was something much, much worse. It was a wendigo.

Wendigos were emaciated, nightmarish creatures that feasted on human flesh. According to old myths, humans who engaged in cannibalism could turn into one of these horrific beasts, condemned to carry out the rest of their lives in a state of eternal hunger, always roaming in search of the taste of new victims.

The grotesque creature’s back was turned to them, its head bowed as it teared a chunk of flesh off its wailing prey. The wendigo then turned towards the beam of light Dipper was aiming at it, and from his angle Dipper could see a piece of…a wing, perhaps, dangling from its mouth, and—no way—was that a child in its grasp?

It was. Trapped beneath the wendigo’s spindly claws was a child that looked human, only with additional scaly wings—a young dragon maybe, one that was screaming and crying with all the strength his little lungs could muster.

Although Dipper had never been able to recover any of his blocked magic, he wasn’t completely helpless in the face of danger. When Bill had started tagging along, Dipper realized he needed more than just his Swiss-army knife and sheer force of will to protect the heir. He’d begun amassing a collection of both magic and non-magic weapons to carry around with him, but he’d never needed to use them until this moment.

Dipper began loading his pistol with silver rounds, hands surprisingly steady despite his nerves. He’d never shot at a live target before but he couldn’t afford to miss now. He fired at the creature, who dropped the screaming bundle with an enraged hiss to take a step towards its aggressors.

Dipper fired another round, which knocked the wendigo back a few paces before it reoriented itself and suddenly leapt forward at full speed. It was impossibly swift, one second crouched at the end of the cave and the next second just a few feet away. Dipper fired another round in panic but this time the creature barely flinched as it continued barreling towards him. Dipper shut his eyes. This was it; everything was over. A few more milliseconds and the monster would be mere inches away from ripping him apart.

From behind him Bill snarled in displeasure and the wendigo was suddenly engulfed in electric blue flames, halting long enough for Dipper to startle out of his paralysis and rush forward to slice its head cleanly off with the blade strapped to his left side. Its head bounced off its shoulders and rolled across the ground, coming to a halt a few steps in front of Bill.

Dipper collapsed onto the blood-soaked floor, breathing heavily with exhaustion and disbelief.

Meanwhile, Bill walked forward, grinning, and picked up the monster’s head, juggling it back and forth using his knees like it was a slightly misshapen soccer ball. The sight was disturbing to say the least. Bill was possibly more terrifying than the wendigo.

“Put that down,” Dipper said halfheartedly. Bill opened his mouth to respond, but the air was suddenly punctuated with a loud wailing sound.

Shit. The kid. He’d almost forgotten. Dipper quickly rushed over to the neglected bundle on the ground, checking for damage.

Up close Dipper could tell the child was indeed a dragon in its partial human form. While dragons usually alternated between two different forms, younger dragons often had less control over their transformations and ended up looking like a mixture between the two appearances. This boy looked to be about two or three years old. His right wing was torn off completely, the area on his back from which it was torn bleeding severely. The rest of him appeared to be okay, though, thank the gods.

Dipper picked up the boy and held him to his chest, rubbing soothing motions against his back. In that moment Dipper resented his restricted magic more than anything. The boy's hoarse cries tore through his heart and made him ache with frustration and helplessness, especially as there was nothing he could do to accelerate the boy’s healing or assuage his pain. There was still the option of crude first aid, however, so Dipper got to work making rudimentary bandages out of torn strips of his shirt and wrapped them around the child’s torso to suppress the bleeding. He was at a loss for what to do. There was no way they could bring the child back to the palace with them while searching for his parents. Plus, there were only a few hours until sunrise, and the nearest hospital was probably too far away for them to reach in time.

Maybe the best solution was to bring the child to someone in the nearest town who seemed kind and hope they would be able to help the child as well as maintain discretion about seeing their crown prince randomly wandering around with some dirty, disheveled bum that vaguely resembled Dipper Pines.

With that thought in mind, Dipper headed out of the cave with Bill following closely behind.

"What are we doing with the dragon spawn?" Bill asked.

"We can't bring him back," Dipper said. "We'll go to the next town and bring him to someone who seems trustworthy."

Bill paused in his steps and looked up at Dipper incredulously. "Haven't we done enough for it? It's not even gushing blood anymore! Just leave it by the side of the road."

"No!" Dipper shouted, appalled, turning to look at him with wide eyes. Sometimes the things that came out of Bill's mouth made it so apparent that he was the son of an unrepentantly evil dictator. "That's a child you're talking about!"

"Evolution favors the strong," Bill said, crossing his arms. Dipper didn't know how to even begin replying to that, so he chose to ignore him.

As they trekked through the woods back to where the car was parked, Dipper noticed an odd rustling sound that seemed to be following them. He initially assumed it was a deer or similar woodland creature until he heard a small yelp and a young girl around Bill's age suddenly came tumbling out of a bush.

Dipper took a moment to question why it was always raining small children. First Bill, then the dragon, and now this little girl.

"Where are you taking my brother?" The newcomer demanded, excessively ferocious considering she was about four feet fall.

"Your brother?" Dipper questioned. "Him?" He gestured towards the kid he was holding.

"Give him here!" she shouted.

"He's injured," Dipper replied, not budging. "Where are your parents? What form do they keep? Why were you guys even in this area to begin with?” It was certainly odd to find dragons anywhere outside the land of dragons, as they were notoriously isolationist and preferred to remain within their own country.

"We stay human. Our family has a bunch of am...ambas... ambas..."

"Ambassadors?" Bill interjected snottily, like he felt the need to show he was the intellectually superior nine year old. The fact that the girl’s family was composed of ambassadors certainly explained their divergence from isolationist norms.

"Yeah, we talk to not-dragon people about important things or something. We live in the capital but then we went on vacation here in the woods to stretch our wings and my brother got snatched suddenly." Well, that explained it.

"And your parents just let you come here alone to look for him?" Dipper asked skeptically.

She flushed a little. "Ah...they don't know," she admitted.

Dipper sighed, although he understood all too well the desire to meander away without parental permission. He'd done the same numerous times as a kid, to his parents’ dismay. It was even more understandable given that she’d been looking for her lost brother.

"How far away are you guys from here?" Dipper asked. The girl looked at him with narrowed eyes, as if debating whether they were trustworthy or not.

"We have a cabin…there," she finally said, pointing somewhere over her shoulder. "About thirty minutes away."

"Oh, thank god," Dipper said. The short distance meant that they would be able to return the child and return to the palace in time. "Lead the way, um, what's your name?"

"Myalanth. I go by Maya in school."

"Lead the way, Maya."

They walked towards the cabin, with Maya easily navigating her way through the dark ahead of them despite not having a light source. It must have been the dragon vision, although Dipper was curious about how it was physiologically possible to retain that ability in human form.

Eventually they reached a dimly lit clearing where they spotted a large cabin, slightly worn with tendrils of ivy snaking across the wood.

"Mom!" Maya shouted as she ran towards the cabin, banging on the door. After a moment, the sound of harried footsteps approached, and a frazzled yet elegant looking woman met her at the door.

"Myalanth!" The woman exclaimed. Her hands were visibly trembling. "Where have you been? You must never leave on your own! We’ve failed to protect one of our children already. We...we _cannot_ afford to lose you, too." Her eyes were red with exhaustion and grief.

"It's okay, mom! I'm fine! We're both fine." She turned back to look towards Dipper and her brother, who were still approaching from several feet away. When she looked up and saw them—saw her son and the state he was in—her mouth twisted into a wretched grimace as she immediately began tearing up.

"My child, my child, my child," she kept sobbing as she reached over and took him from Dipper. The boy, who had passed out from exhaustion and pain, subconsciously turned and grabbed a hold of his mother's shirt.

Then louder footsteps were heard coming from inside and a man, presumably the children’s father, came to the door as well. As he saw his children, the same spectrum of emotions his wife had experienced flitted across his face until he, too, settled on weary relief.

"We are immensely grateful to you,” he finally said, addressing Bill and Dipper. His voice was deep and rough, like sandpaper. “Please, do come inside.”

"I'm sorry, but we really have to get going soon," Dipper replied.

"Just for a moment," the woman insisted warmly. "Please. You have done much for us. The least we could offer is hospitality. And we do wish to hear your story as well."

“But…your son. Doesn’t he need urgent medical attention?”

“It shall be all right. Our kind possess strong healing abilities. He is currently healing on his own, although whether his wing regenerates or not is up to fate. You have our gratitude for closing the wound, though, as I fear he would not otherwise have been able to heal in time given his young age.”

Dipper was hesitant to accept their offer. He didn't want to risk exposing themselves to a random family of strangers, but he was extremely worn out, and while Bill was probably too proud to admit it, he must have been tired as well. The pair stepped inside, and as the light illuminated more of their features, the anticipated gasp of shock came.

"But—but you two are..."

"Please don't mention us to anyone," Dipper implored.

"Of course," the man replied, sounding almost upset about the idea. He seemed to be struggling to wrap his head around the identity of their guests. "We have no wish to impede on the privacy of our children's saviors. I apologize for not introducing ourselves earlier. I am Ferurth, prime ambassador for the dragons in this country. This is my wife Tiffany."

"Tiffany. A common human name, but you don't smell like a human," Bill remarked.

"Ah, no. I am indeed dragon kin, but my parents were consumers of human popular culture," Tiffany volunteered, sounding almost a little embarrassed. "I am named after the protagonist of a classic human film about early meals." Dipper wasn’t sure what she was talking about, so he just nodded.

The couple brought their guests inside to the living room and brought them two glasses of water. After making themselves comfortable on the paisley taupe couch, Dipper explained the entire situation involving the wendigo encounter and finding the child in its grasp, leaving out more gruesome details of the actual battle. Ferurth and Tiffany looked solemn throughout the tale, Tiffany gripping her son tighter as Dipper spoke.

“Can I ask what happened on your end? How did you guys lose him?” Dipper asked once he finished retelling his story.

"We do not understand how it happened," Tiffany began. "One second our son was asleep in his room, and the next time we checked on him he had disappeared. Perhaps he was lured out by the wendigo's call, or perhaps he was snatched; this we do not know. We had heard rumors of wendigo sightings in this area before we planned our trip, but we had not taken such warnings very seriously. Yet after our son's disappearance we did a desperate search of the surrounding area and to our surprise we indeed found wendigo footprints nearby, but they were impossible to track. We have been searching for him for several hours, and there are still currently two of us in the woods trying to locate him.

She paused for a moment, brows furrowed. “This is an odd circumstance, as dark creatures like wendigos are usually concentrated in other places—much more barren ones. Places less full of life. This place used to thrum with energy years ago when we visited. This time, however, as soon as we arrived in the area, we felt an inherent wrongness down to our bones. It is almost as if the life has been slowly seeping out of this part of the woods, sucked away by an unknown force. The trees are all here, the grass is still in place, but everything just feels…a few shades darker somehow. It is difficult to explain.”

“When life disappears, it is easier for shadows to take over,” Ferurth added. “I do not believe this is a localized phenomenon. There has been some talk of other pockets of land being slowly deprived of life in a similar manner, but any attempts to vocalize these concerns have been rapidly quenched.”

“I haven’t heard of this,” Dipper said, surprised.

“I have.” Bill said. They turned to look at him, but he did not look as if he was going to elaborate.

“There is something that feels utterly wrong about this country,” Ferurth continued. “We did not notice it at first. For a while it was merely a seed of darkness, a faint taste of bitterness in the aura of the land, but it has grown significantly in the past few decades. Perhaps the fae were right in their prophecy after all. Perhaps their war with Cipher was justified, and perhaps the emperor truly will bring about the fall of civilization if he is allowed to—”

"We must not be too hasty to blame the emperor. There is no solid proof, and we must be respectful and diplomatic regarding this issue,” Tiffany interrupted hurriedly, glancing between Bill and Dipper. Dipper noticed Bill didn’t say anything to defend his father, remaining silent with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Diplomacy has no place in a land that will eventually be consumed by darkness,” Ferurth argued heatedly. Then he caught himself and sighed. “I apologize. It is not my place to speak to you both in this way, especially not after you have done us such a huge favor.”

Dipper held no loyalty for the emperor, but it was definitely not wise to announce that fact to everyone he met. Yet, he felt as if these people could be trusted somehow. “The emperor and I are…not close,” he said carefully. “He won’t be hearing of your words from me.” He was fairly confident Bill wouldn’t mention this conversation to the emperor either, since he would also have to reveal that he frequently left the palace grounds with Dipper. He also had a vague feeling that Bill wouldn’t want to inform his father about this conversation even if he could, although Dipper couldn’t pinpoint why he felt that way.

“Thank you,” the ambassador replied with a small inclination of his head.

Dipper nodded in return. “We really do need to leave now, but thank you as well for trusting us enough to talk about this candidly.”

“Of course. We did not mean to keep you for so long, and we wish you well. We will never forget what you both have done for us.” Ferurth’s eyes were firm and meaningful when they met Dipper’s, and Dipper realized that a genuine offer to repay a debt was on the table.

“Good luck. Stay safe,” Dipper said sincerely before he and Bill departed for the dark of the forest.

 

* * *

 

The next night, Dipper was too exhausted to go exploring again even though Soos was still on duty and Dipper could theoretically leave the palace if he wanted to. Instead, Dipper snuck Soos into his room to play video games like old times. Dipper broke out the liter of coke stashed under his bed, which he’d brought back from one of his trips outside because god forbid the palace kitchen stock anything other than freshly produced organic drinks and the finest wines.

It was always nice to hang out with Soos, who reminded him of home, comfort, and happier times. Dipper went to bed feeling warm and settled.  He was dreaming of watching the sunset from atop the tiled roof of the mystery shack, when Bill suddenly appeared out of nowhere to sit next to him. Dipper jumped in shock, catching himself just before he toppled off the ledge, which was a pointless move because right afterwards Bill abruptly shoved him off.

Dipper yelped and closed his eyes, but instead of falling he remained suspended in the air a foot away from the edge of the roof. He stared at Bill, who was sporting a wide, delighted grin.

"What the hell, Bill?" Dipper accused. The slight remorse he usually felt after cursing in front of children was oddly absent when it came to Bill.

"Chill out. You're dreaming, Pine Tree."

"Are you actually in my dream or am I dreaming you in my dream?”

"I’m not entirely sure what you’re trying to say, but it's actually me. I wanted to talk to you."

"How are you in my mind! Were you always able to do that?" Dipper shouted.

"Weeeeell, no. The first time I did this it was completely accidental. I entered the mind of some random at court and now he's a drooling catatonic mess. I think he was a visiting prince from somewhere or other, but he was only what? Ninth in line for the throne? Useless. Then I had to go test this ability on a bunch of people before I stopped leaving people, you know, cuckoo for cocoa puffs." Bill said all of this offhandedly, as if taking lives was just something he did every other Wednesday.

"How many people have you affected?" Dipper asked in abject horror. 

"Oh don't worry, Pine Tree. Not that many. Maybe like a dozen,"  Bill replied.

To some extent Dipper was fairly unsurprised, as Bill had always demonstrated a serious lack of empathy, but Dipper hadn't expected this lack of empathy to translate to what was essentially cold-blooded murder. And for what? Power? Dipper felt nauseous. If Bill was already this way at such a young age, what would he be like in ten years? Twenty? Would he be an exact replica of his father? For the first time since he met Bill, Dipper briefly questioned the morality of ending a child before he could grow up to be a serious threat to society, but he quashed the thought immediately, appalled by himself. It wasn't Bill's fault that he grew up with the most questionable parental figure in the country. He just needed better influences, and while Dipper wasn't quite the paragon of virtue ideal for reforming a psychopath-in-training, he was at least more compassionate than the emperor.

Dipper wondered whether he would actually be able to pull a hypothetical trigger against Bill if it came down to it. He tried to imagine it, but even just thinking about the idea caused an oddly painful ache in the back of his skull. It was a strange sensation easily mistaken for a migraine, yet the throbbing felt strangely intentional and more psychological than physiological. He’d never experienced anything like it before. Apparently the thought of hurting Bill unsettled him much more than he thought it would, as the headache was accompanied by an unpleasant feeling of _wrongness_ running down his spine. It was a surprisingly strong reaction considering the person he knew Bill was capable of becoming and considering he'd only met him a few months ago. Bill wasn't a particularly endearing child either; he was too shrewd and precocious to be such, and his immaturity led to dead bodies more so than any kind of childish charm.

"Bill, you can't treat sentient beings like disposable napkins."

"Yeah okay, Pine Tree. Tell me that again when you're in line to inherit your own empire."

Dipper made a noise of frustration. "How is that an argument? Morality applies to everyone, even rulers. Especially rulers. Just because your father doesn't understand the concept, doesn't mean you—"

"Don't," Bill interrupted, gritting his teeth.

 _Don't what?_ Dipper thought angrily. _Don't educate him on morality? Don't compare him to his father?_ He opened his mouth to give Bill a piece of his mind, when—

"Don't call him my father,” Bill said.

Dipper closed his mouth abruptly, thrown by the unexpected turn in the conversation.

"What?" Dipper said, blinking.

"This is what I came to talk to you about. And if you hadn't sidetracked me, we would have gotten here much earlier.”

“You came to talk about your relationship with your fa—with Phoenix?”

 “It goes beyond that, but yes.” He fixed Dipper with a steady, serious gaze, an expression that no child should be able to produce unless they’d seen things that catapulted them straight into adulthood.

“Can I trust you, Dipper Pines?” It struck Dipper as odd that Bill was asking this. They barely knew each other.

“We barely know each other,” Dipper said reasonably. “I don’t know your motives. You don’t know mine. For all you know I could be plotting to overthrow the king.”

“Good. We’d be on the same page then,” Bill said. For the second time in this conversation, Dipper found himself thrown by his remarks.

“I feel like I can trust you, Pine Tree. I can’t explain why, but I do. Am I wrong?”

“I don’t know, Bill. I don’t know what this is about. I can’t promise you anything without knowing what I’m getting myself into. What I can do is promise you that your words won’t leave this dream if that’s what you want.”

Bill cocked his head and looked at Dipper, evaluating, before inclining his head slightly. It seemed like he’d made his decision. He held a hand out to Dipper, who remembered he was still floating mid-air, and pulled him back onto the ledge.

“When we spoke with the dragons last night, they mentioned areas of land slowly having life sucked out of them. Well, not only were they right about that, they were also right to blame the emperor.” Bill gripped the edge of the rooftop so tightly as he spoke that a chunk of tile came off and disintegrated into dust.

“His hold on the empire is weakening with all the wars he’s involved in for expansion, and his ambition will lead to the fall of this empire if he continues like this. Because of this penchant for recklessness, he's also working with forces he can't control. Does he really imagine he can maintain his control after unleashing whatever chaos he’s planning on releasing?”

Dipper’s heart pounded. “What chaos is he planning on releasing?”

Bill’s mouth thinned into a line.

“Bill?”

“He won’t say. But from what I can tell it’s massive in scale. Anything that requires sucking away such a huge amount of life force from the earth for activation is unimaginably dangerous. He wants to summon wild and ancient powers that can’t possibly be controlled by a single being. His lust for power has always clouded his judgement.” That sounded terrifying, but there was something Dipper didn’t understand.

“Why not work to prevent his failure instead if you’re so sure he won’t succeed? He’s your father. Why do you seem to…dislike him so much?” Bill looked away, silent. For a while Dipper thought he wasn’t going to respond, but he suddenly spoke in a flat voice.

“Phoenix once told me, when he killed my mother, that the process of eliminating our weaknesses pushes the boundaries of our limitations and makes us greater, stronger. Well, this time he’s the weakness, but not in the way he meant it. He’s a weakness to our country; he’s a weakness to the Cipher lineage; he’s a weakness to my potential. And _that_ is why he needs to be eliminated, like he eliminated my mother.”

“He _what_?” Dipper tried to ask, but Bill merely shook his head.

“That’s not what this conversation is about,” Bill said firmly.

Dipper could tell from his tone that there would be no more information forthcoming. He tried to absorb the magnitude of what he’d heard. He had no idea that Bill’s mother had been outright _murdered_ by the emperor. There were never any media reports of her death, and the public simply assumed she fell into disfavor or faded into obscurity. He wondered how all of this had shaped Bill—an abnormally intelligent kid who’d had his mother torn from him a young age by someone he’d presumably looked up to, no less. That must have had a profound impact on his development. The question was, would he learn by his father’s example, or would he learn from his father’s mistakes?

“Why are you telling me all this, Bill? I want to help you, but what could I possibly do? My hands are tied, almost literally. I’ve got zero power in this place.”

“For now I just need to know there’s someone on my side. Tell me if that’s you or not,” Bill said.

Dipper felt conflicted. That was a complicated request. There were too many variables, too many possible scenarios Dipper could dream up in which he was definitely not on Bill’s side, especially given Bill’s dubious ethics.

“I’m on your side with respect to this issue,” Dipper said carefully. “I want to stop whatever he’s planning as much as you do, but I can’t guarantee I’ll always be on board with your methods or your views.”

“Sounds about right. I’ll take it,” Bill said, shrugging. “Oh and I like your mind, Pine Tree. It’s nice. Don’t mind me if I just camp out here sometimes.”

“Bill! You can’t just—” But Bill had already gone, leaving in his place an army of glitter-vomiting toads.

“Not funny,” Dipper muttered to thin air as the dream world dissolved into the warm light of sunrise.


	5. Chapter 5

_Four years later (Dipper 20, Bill 13)_

 

In Bill’s dream, _Phoenix cipher was grinning. A slow, terrifying grin that never made it onto propaganda posters or media shots. No, it was a special grin, reserved for prey being toyed with moments before their demise._

_"Darling, do you really think having the boy here will save you? If anything, it'll just be an educational experience for him." Phoenix said mildly._

_Bill felt his mother grip his shoulder tightly, trembling._

_"Why are you doing this?" She whispered furiously, harshly. "He's only five. Who will take care of him when I'm gone? Let me have more time with my son. I can teach him. Please.”_

_"Teach him what? How to be soft? How to have a happy family? No, no, no, that's not what I need, love." He stepped forward to twirl a piece of her hair mockingly. "What I need is to teach him how to survive, how to thrive."_

_She laughed a broken, harsh laugh. "All this fucking time I thought. I actually thought you lo—“ She cut herself off, couldn't say it._

_"Oh dear god, no. No, no, no. Of course not. But someday I might, and that's unacceptable." Phoenix exhaled sharply. "This is what I get for becoming involved with a succubus. Those deep amber eyes suckered me in, tricked me into believing I could have this without sacrificing everything."_

_"You don't have to sacrifice anything!" Tears of frustration and resignation gathered at the corner of her eyes._

_"There you go again, whispering filthy lies, making me want to believe them with your coercive magic."_

_"I haven't done anything! Please, you have to believe me," she cried._

_"I don't want to get to a point where I believe you," he replied._

_Her eyes widened as his claws lengthened. He nudged Bill aside, who stepped away in horror and confusion. Then Phoenix plunged his entire hand into her stomach._

_Bill screamed._

* * *

 

Bill woke up pissed. _That_ dream again.

He knew from experience it would be impossible to straight back to sleep after that, which was a nuisance because his coming of age ceremony was the next day and he needed his rest if he wanted to live through it.

Usually after having this particular nightmare he liked to go bother Dipper because that invariably left him feeling better. He used to invade Dipper’s dreams whenever he needed a distraction from thinking about past events that infuriated him, but after his short-range teleportation abilities manifested a year ago he began popping into Dipper’s actual room. Seeing Dipper fall off various pieces of furniture from shock in real life was always more satisfying than merely watching him flail in his dreams.

Bill materialized at the foot of Dipper’s bed fully prepared to wake him by pushing him off the bed until he realized that no one was sleeping there. He turned to see Dipper sprawled on the cold stone floor asleep atop a messy pile of loose research notes, one hand clutched around his notebook possessively. Even in sleep he didn’t look relaxed; his brows were tight with worry, his body curled defensively against the world.

Bill crouched down to see what Dipper had been working on. Next to him was a series of world maps from different time periods old and new. Some of the maps were yellowed and crinkled with age, while others looked freshly printed. Bill spotted a map which appeared to be thousands of years old, an original relic possibly preserved with the aid of some magic. It was an anachronistic piece out of time, sitting surreally in the middle of Dipper’s bedroom next to his sleek new laptop. The modern maps contained areas circled in bright red marker, identifying lifeless patches of land stained with darkness that the emperor had undoubtedly had a hand in creating. He and Dipper spent years combing through various sources, from town gossip and popular rumors to internet conspiracy sites and personal blogs, trying to locate these areas. There was definitely a pattern here, but it remained elusive. Dipper theorized it was part of some archaic ritual or spell, but he had yet to come across a specific ritual like this in all his research.

Instead of kicking Dipper awake, an impulse brought Bill to lie down next to the older boy and face him, watching with an odd sort of curiosity.

Dipper looked almost exactly the same compared to the first time Bill had glimpsed him. Dipper had been blessed—cursed, rather—to never age as long as Phoenix was alive, trapped eternally as a young man on the cusp of adulthood. It was normal for demons, elves, fae, or magical beasts to be ageless, but not so much for an ordinary human possessing neither an ethereal kind of beauty nor a monstrous sort of hideousness. Dipper was an oddity—a carefully preserved, unchanging snapshot brought to life. The only thing that had changed about Dipper was that he looked more and more weary as the years marched on, and this difference was probably only discernible to Bill, who had been watching for as long as he could remember.

Bill knew that Dipper believed they’d met the first time Bill caught him trying to sneak back from the woods. The truth was Bill had noticed him long before then. Even as a young child Bill was endlessly inquisitive, his intelligence and curiosity mandating he constantly be on a quest for more knowledge. Bill had spent a lot of his childhood in the palace library, especially after his mother passed. On one occasion he found himself staring at a stranger across the room, and once he started watching, he couldn’t stop. The stranger was endlessly fascinating, always looking so driven, so desperate. Bill recognized who the stranger was, and was smart enough to realize that behind the public image and the political machinations, Dipper Pines was a prisoner, just like him. Bill had held on to that feeling of solidarity and kinship like an imaginary friend.

In the present, Dipper’s fists tightened suddenly and a sob tore through his throat. Bill wondered if he was having a nightmare. Not type of nightmare involving monsters and terrifying beasts—he knew Dipper had those. In fact, Bill sometimes put monsters in Dipper’s dream without the other’s knowledge because he felt a strange thrill at seeing Dipper run and trip from his creations. He meant the kind of nightmare that gnawed and clawed at your soul instead of your body, still twisting your mind hours after waking.

He didn’t know what compelled him to do what he did next. He conjured in his own mind a terrifying, twisted, dark creature and pushed the creation into Dipper’s head, willing fear to chase away any hurt or grief. In the real world, Dipper subconsciously reached out and grasped Bill’s forearm with a death grip.

Bill watched and watched and _wanted_ with a dark, vicious burn, but what he wanted he didn’t know.

 

* * *

 

The coming of age ceremony marking Bill’s fourteenth year was comprised of two parts: a ritual and a celebration.

It was the ritual that brought him to the entrance of the labyrinth in the woods at sunset. The tall stone walls of the mossy byzantine maze blocked the final rays of the sun, casting the surroundings in ominous shadow. For Bill it wasn’t an imposing darkness. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was only in the darkness that he felt he could shrug off all pretenses; the dark welcomed his poison and blackness and savagery without judgement. They shared a mutual understanding.

Tradition mandated that the heir to the throne complete this quest to gain the right to succession. It wasn’t so much a quest, however, as it was a desperate hunt. When night fell, creatures of the night slipped through cracks in the shadows within the labyrinth, filling the space with beasts and creatures of pure malice. Bill would have to fight his way past them and reach the center of the maze weaponless, proving without a doubt that his place was at the top of the magical hierarchy. It sounded like an archaic tradition in an era of reality television and fiber optics, but tradition served an important purpose; magic would be lost if symbolic rituals weren’t preserved with time.

It was supposed to be a hard task. For most young royals who’d undertaken this quest, it probably had been. Yet, Bill had the advantage of years of experience honing his powers and strengthening his fighting abilities, courtesy of his secret late night excursions. Dipper had given up trying to dissuade him from seeking danger years ago, after Bill made it clear that he would be proceeding with or without outside help. There was so, so much blood on Bill’s hands, but Dipper had been there to make sure none of that blood was innocent. They’d tracked down monsters, villains, terrors, horrors, devils cloaked in disguises of fine silk and devils with no intention to hide– always adhering to Dipper’s incomprehensible and arbitrary moral codes. Bill didn’t understand why everything had to be so complicated; in this world there was no good or evil—just evil with power or evil with none.

Bill pushed through the rusty iron gates with a deadly calm. Immediately he felt the chilling presence of other beings around him. Growls and groans rang out against the calm whisper of the trees. Undeterred by sounds that would have made lesser creatures go mad, he stalked his way through the halls without faltering once in his pace, navigating by interpreting the echo of his footsteps as the sound reflected off the walls of the labyrinth. He was a beacon of electric blue flame, a deadly light that left a trail of ashes behind him, indiscriminately setting everything in his path ablaze with single-minded intensity. Nothing came even close to touching him.

When he reached the heart of the labyrinth, he couldn’t help but feel childishly petulant at being cheated out of a supposedly singular experience. The journey there had been so dull, so anticlimactic. The final room was a circular enclosure, its walls generously spattered with twisted vines of ivy that had been brightened red by the autumn sun. In the center of the room was a gilded stone box with finely carved decorations that had faded with time until it was an incoherent mass of swirls and lines—a stark contrast to the plain construction of the chamber. There was no discernible way to open the box, but it was undeniably a box, which meant it held something. Bill held no reverence for old objects and no particular reverence for his ancestors, so he picked it up and threw it hard against the ground, causing the stone to crack into three large chunks. In the center of the mess was a simple gold ring made of two intertwined bands, tarnished dark through the years from oxidation. An heirloom. Bill rolled his eyes at the sentiment. He snatched it up and pocketed it, strolling languidly out of the labyrinth and making his way back to the palace for the grand celebration afterwards.

He put on a cocky smile as he sauntered through the ballroom doors to where the guests were awaiting his entrance, looking nothing like the bloody mess like he was supposed to be. The audience, composed of an eclectic mix including high-ranking officials, members of the court, foreign royalty, and even popular celebrities, stared at him in astonishment and wonder.

“Since I know you’re all just here for the free champagne,” he announced with a sly smirk as he waltzed right in. “Shall we begin?”

Hushed whispers broke out. The guests, well aware of the demands of the infamous trial, were bewildered by the fact that he’d come back hours before midnight. No one had ever returned from the trial this early before. It was completely unprecedented.

Yet his impressive feat was temporarily forgotten as soon as the celebration commenced and a long night of feasting, dancing, and political networking began. The festivities were closed to the general public, although select photographers and reporters were allowed attendance. All in all, it wasn't as tedious as Bill had expected it to be. He put on a charming, boyish smile for the cameras and did a fine job pretending to be his father's loyal son. He didn’t bother trying to conceal the occasional flashes of wickedness or malice—one of the benefits of being descended from a long line of renowned sadists, he supposed.

It was a good opportunity to observe interactions between politicians or courtiers, trying to catalogue who the emperor's most devoted subjects were and look for hints of disloyalty amidst the ranks. Court politics was tedious, but it was a game Bill would have to play in order to win. If there was anything he’d learned from life in the palace, it was that the sycophants and bootlickers were always the most corruptible, loyalties easily swayed by banknotes and whispers of power.

Despite his intention to navigate the jungle of politics, he ended up resenting having to spend the night listening to boring nobles and officials drone on and on about nothing of substance. He parked himself near the dessert table and picked at a slice of cake as politicians came up to him one by one and tried to engage him in conversation to earn his favor. When the Duke of Probably Somewhere Unremarkable began talking about his beautiful daughter who just happened to be Bill’s age and wow, wasn’t that a wonderful coincidence, Bill felt an insistent urge to cut someone. Since it was too early to start injuring foreign diplomats—it was only his first public appearance, after all—he refrained. Instead, he entertained himself imagining the look on the man’s face if Bill were to stick a dessert fork in his eye and walk away. Unfortunately that scenario involved actually getting up, which was just too tedious to consider.

Eventually the monotony was broken up by a sight that made him want to jab a dessert fork in his own eye.

Dipper Pines stood in a secluded corner by one of the windows, but he was not alone. Accompanying him was a woman with long, striking red hair that spilled effortlessly down her back. The bright autumn tones of her hair contrasted conspicuously with the winter white of her simple dress, which she wore irreverently in the manner of people who only wore dresses when necessary to satisfy social obligations.

It was clear from their body language—relaxed stances, shoulders pressed close, heads bent together conspiratorially—that they were well-acquainted. She whispered something to Dipper that made him laugh so hard he had to clutch her elbow to stay upright.

Bill was not fond of their closeness, of that Us Against the World dynamic they seemed to have built between them. Well, “not fond” was putting it mildly. He was absolutely furious. Bill always carried around a baseline level of anger—a slow, simmering rage born of natural temper and repeated injustices committed against him. He couldn't remember a time when he wasn't angry to be honest. But this—this wasn't just simmering anger; it was boiling fury compounded by aggravation from boredom and residual post-battle energy. How _dare_ Dipper stand in a private corner exchanging intimate whispers, trading secrets with some commonplace wench on a day that was supposed to be entirely about Bill.

He wanted to see bright red burst from her arteries, blooming and flowing across her white, white dress at the look of joyful reverence on Dipper’s face.

Without a word to the man who was currently yammering at him, Bill stood and made his way towards the laughing pair. Dipper looked up and stopped chuckling when his eyes met Bill’s own. Bill kept his gaze cold. There was confusion and uncertainty in Dipper’s expression. They weren’t supposed to know each other. Dipper was probably wondering how to act in this situation, or maybe wondering why Bill looked so hateful. There was discernible tension. Loud whispers broke out amongst the audience of guests around them.

As their wordless conflict drew the stares of more and more viewers, it eventually drew the attention of the emperor as well. Seeing the need to handle this situation to his liking, Phoenix strode purposefully in their direction. The crowd tripped over themselves trying to part for him lest they draw his ire.

“Bill,” the emperor said pleasantly, voiced tinged with a warning note. Bill could detect he was angry at them for causing a scene. He wondered if Phoenix had just been crossing his fingers this whole time hoping that Bill and Dipper would simply never run into each other. Then Bill remembered that thoughts of Dipper probably didn’t cross the ruler’s mind very often at all. The emperor had long forgotten he even had a soulmate, even if the people still remembered. The association of Dipper as Phoenix’s soulmate sent invisible shudders down Bill’s spine. It was a piece of knowledge he tried to keep locked deep, deep in his mind, buried under layers of steel and chromium and lead. It was a thought that felt so fundamentally wrong it detonated and sent his mind into chaos as soon as he dredged it up from the darkest depths of his psyche, like an unstable compound exposed to light.

“It would be my pleasure to formally introduce you to Dipper Pines. I’m sure you will get along splendidly,” the emperor announced, making it sound like a mandate.

Camera shutters went off enthusiastically, capturing the drama. Papers would probably be speculating about why the emperor had kept these two important elements of his life separate until now. Bill guessed Phoenix probably didn’t want an outsider with the kind of ideology and ethics that Dipper held to have any influence on Bill. Introducing them would have been a risk, as the emperor was well aware of Dipper’s reluctant allegiance. Bill’s allowed company growing up was limited to those who praised the king and his policies to the high heavens.

Independent papers would probably take this opportunity to guess at some family drama, something saucy involving jealousy and resentment. The Imperial Times would probably omit the negativity altogether and make the meeting sound either heartwarming or hyper-professional—benefits of biased reporting.

The emperor came over and put an arm around Dipper’s waist in a false gesture of support and companionship. Bill narrowly avoided lighting that arm fire with his gaze, in an entirely literal and not at all figurative manner. He’d never believed for a second that Phoenix cared for Dipper and it irritated him to see Phoenix parading around in public as if Dipper belonged to him, when in reality he’d had something good and had chosen to neglect it, like someone fiinding a lost van Gogh painting and stashing it into a dusty box in their attic. In Bill’s eyes Phoenix had given up the right to lay claim in any capacity.

It pacified him only slightly to see Dipper flinch almost imperceptibly from the touch and step away from it under the guise of stepping closer to shake Bill’s hand.

“Charmed,” Bill said with an edge of sarcasm, still bitter from before. Dipper didn’t say anything, just wordlessly shook Bill’s hand with a forced smile to cover his confusion. Bill stared at Dipper coolly, head tilted slightly as if assessing. Dipper held his stare for a moment before breaking it to feign a cough into his fist. It had unnerved him. Good.

Bill leaned in close to speak in Dipper’s ear. “We’ll talk about this later,” he said, voice deceivingly calm, before turning to walk away. His behavior drew more whispers, but Bill didn’t care. He strode out of the ballroom and returned his room without a word to his guests, disregarding how inappropriate it was to depart his own celebration like that.

He plucked a random, useless book off his bookshelf and spent a while tearing out pages one by one.

At around dawn after the party wrapped up, Phoenix came into Bill’s room to speak with him. Bill had been reluctantly expecting it.

The emperor sauntered over to a chair and spun it around to sit on it backwards, rolling his neck to crack it. “A little insolence in public is good sometimes,” Phoenix said casually as he plucked imaginary lint off his trousers. His eyes met Bill’s and they hardened. “But you will never walk away from me like that again.”

Bill chose not to reply, which the emperor seemed to take to mean as assent.

“Anyway, I expect a congratulations is in order for making it out of the labyrinth alive tonight. Don’t feel too bad about the outcome. No one has ever made it all the way to the center, and I expect no one will.”

Bill paused, his heart beating louder. “What do you mean?”

“I myself simply wandered for hours before retracing my steps and returning the way I came. I don’t believe the labyrinth was designed to ever be solved. It would be simply impossible to make it entirely through without tiring out and being decimated by the creatures inside.” Bill knew that to be untrue.

“So you mean…in the course of a few millennia none of our ancestors have actually made it the end?” That was certainly new and mysterious information. Why had he been able to navigate the maze so easily, breezing through the passages as if the answer was encoded in his brain, in his being? He certainly didn’t believe that he was the strongest or even the cleverest individual to navigate that maze. There had to be something else to it, something more to the workings of the labyrinth, something he didn’t understand.

All anyone really knew about the mysterious structure was based on myth, archaeological conjecture, and knowledge passed down through the Cipher lineage. It was said to be built by the First Emperor, the earliest Cipher who had united the empire and ordered the structure to be built after he passed away, mandating that it be constructed exactly according to the plans he had drawn up. The people who worked on building the labyrinth were sacrificed after its completion, and the secrets of its layout died along with them. The labyrinth had come to be known as a test or trial of sorts, to prove the power of the royal heir in line to inherit the throne. Apparently that was likely all a sham—a false display of power—which meant that the original and true purpose of the labyrinth remained a mystery.

“Not a soul has made it to the center,” the emperor affirmed. “Perhaps it’s meant to teach us to recognize our limits, to put down our pride and know when to cease chasing something futile.”

Ironically, if that had been the intended lesson, then Phoenix certainly hadn’t learned it at all. Bill chose to keep quiet about his successful journey to the center, about the ring burning a hole in his pocket. There was no reason to let his unsuspecting guardian know about it, not when it could be an ace up his sleeve.

“It was certainly very humbling,” Bill lied. “I should rest now, though,” he said, feigning fatigue. “It’s been a long day.”

“That it has. I’ll leave you to it then.” And then he was gone, but Bill had no intention of going to sleep.

 

* * *

 

When Bill arrived in Dipper’s room, the other had his face planted in his pillow. He wasn’t asleep though, judging by the grunt he made and the muffled words, “Go away. Sleep now. Drama tomorrow.”

And Bill thought he was supposed to be the child here. He had no intention of leaving Dipper to sleep in peace, however. Why should Dipper get to rest quietly, perhaps dreaming of cherry hair and champagne weddings, when Bill himself would be too busy stewing in his own anger to sleep. No, that sounded unfair.

“And what were you doing at _my_ celebration, cavorting with random women?” Bill said resentfully. At his tone, Dipper pushed his face off the pillow and sat up, turning to narrow his eyes at him.

“I had an invitation. She had an invitation. It was a party. I hear people talk to each other at those.” Dipper paused. “This is what you were so angry about earlier? We’re good friends, but it isn’t as if I’m spilling state secrets to her.”

“It doesn’t matter that you’re not telling her confidential information. What matters is that you’re supposed to be devoted to helping me, working with me to prevent the _collapse of the modern world_. Or is that not important to you anymore? Does the fate of the world cease to matter once a pretty thing comes along and puts a gentle hand on your arm? It was my first public appearance—a celebration in my honor—and you spent it giggling with some common _wench_. You can’t afford distractions like that. We have to stay focused.”

Dipper looked like he wanted to plant his fist in Bill’s face. His hands were trembling in anger, and he had to grip the sheets to stabilize them.

“Don’t call my friend a wench, Bill. What is this, the Middle Ages? Oh, we’ve achieved space travel and three-dimensional printing but the future monarch of this empire still can’t address a woman with the respect she deserves?” Dipper took a breath before continuing.

“What more do you want from me Bill? I spend most of my waking hours doing research, reading texts, investigating anomalies…working for _you_. I’ve put everything into helping you work towards deposing your father—who, by the way, is technically my soulmate if you’ve forgotten, and you don’t think I’m _doing_ _enough_?”

Dipper’s anger added fuel to Bill’s own, and Bill felt his body burn as if it couldn’t contain the magnitude of his fury. It took him a second to realize that he actually was burning, that his body was alight in flames which were dangerously close to wreaking havoc on the surroundings.

He retracted the fire marginally and took a step forwards. Dipper inched back closer to the headboard, which was then Bill realized—in this moment, Dipper was afraid of him. Bill bared his teeth and took a glorious moment to relish that fear. Having known each other for so long, they’d become comfortable with each other. Too comfortable. Dipper seemed to have forgotten that this kingdom belonged to Bill—that Dipper himself belonged to Bill as his subject.

Dipper must have seen something frightening in Bill’s expression, because he looked like he was ready to bolt. That would be a poor move. Dipper had once warned Bill to never run away from a werewolf, to never risk tempting a chase. Dipper should have realized by now that Bill was constructed of all the same predatory instincts as the beasts they’d hunted, just better disguised under fine clothes and lofty titles.

The tension was suddenly interrupted as a group of shadows in the center of the room abruptly shifted, shooting up from the ground and twisting together to form the dark figure of a young woman. In one swift motion, the woman stepped out of the shadows, drew the bow she carried with her, and fired a shot.

Bill immediately grabbed Dipper by the arm and they re-materialized at the other end of the room. An arrow sat lodged against the headboard of the bed, having sailed through the space Dipper previously occupied. It would have pierced him straight through the heart if he’d remained in place.

And then, just as soon as the figure appeared, she was gone.

Bill turned to look at Dipper and saw he had a faraway, haunted look on his face. When Dipper spoke, he uttered just a single word, voice tinged with wonder, dread, and hurt all at once.

“Mabel…”

 


	6. Chapter 6

For the next few days, the image of Mabel with a weapon in hand was ingrained in Dipper’s mind. He saw it everywhere—in the corner of every room, in the outline of every shadow, and even in the mirror as he stared at his reflection, gripping the porcelain until knuckles turned white as if that would solidify his grip on reality.

It was impossible. Mabel looked the same as the last time he’d seen her—like she hadn’t aged at all, same as Dipper. Despite this, she felt almost unrecognizable to him. That expression on her face, the one full of apathy, detachment, violence—it wasn’t one that belonged on his twin. Mabel was someone who embodied humanity and compassion. She had character flaws, sure; she was at times jealous, petty, and inconsiderate, but at her core she was simply _good_ like no one else Dipper had ever known.

Dipper wondered what could have changed in the decade she’d been missing.

A lot could have happened. Anything.

Why had she tried to kill him?

Some part of him was afraid it was because he’d failed her. He’d failed to escape his fancy prison when Mabel disappeared; he’d failed to find her, protect her. Maybe she resented him for it. Maybe whoever took his sister broke her apart piece by piece and put her back together all wrong, turning her into a facsimile of the person he’d once known better than himself. Maybe she was marked by bitterness, by anger at Dipper’s inability to save her from captivity, torture, isolation—god knows what.

The guilt ate at him, clawed through his throat down his trachea and into his lungs, threatening to drown him in shame and regret.

He couldn’t sit by idly anymore. Not when his inaction had already cost him so much. There was one final chance he could take at escaping confinement and leaving to find Mabel. It was a spell he’d forbidden himself from considering even during some of the darker, more agonizing days. It was a last resort—not the deux ex machina he’d been praying for, but a final act of desperation.

The crux of this method involved Dipper inducing his own death—just temporarily, but there was no guarantee that it wouldn’t be permanent. In fact there was a much greater chance that he would never wake up. In these circumstances, it was a risk he was willing to take.

In order to perform this spell he needed to seek outside help, and he knew of one person that had never failed him—Wendy.

 

Wendy Corduroy was the most resourceful person Dipper had ever met. Officially, Wendy had moved into the palace seven years ago after marrying Lord Valentino. Unofficially, Wendy was actually a high ranking member of the secret intelligence, who in her twenty seven years of life had managed to: dismantle three large international crime rings, avert a world war, avert several smaller civil wars, and avert international crisis by preventing the breakup of popular boy band Sev’ral Timez.

They’d met at an official function about five years ago and first bonded over their mutual dislike of forced social gatherings. Then later after building more trust in one another, they surreptitiously bonded over their mutual desire to see the current system dismantled and burned to the ground. It was all very dramatic.

Wendy lived in the east wing of the palace on the second floor, which was just low enough that Dipper could still aim rocks at her window. He tossed a few pebbles at the glass, feeling very much like a teenager.

A moment later, the window popped open and her head poked out.

“Dipper, ‘sup? It’s like, three A.M. dude.” She didn’t sound at all disgruntled despite being woken up in the middle of the night which was pretty impressive.

“Hey, Wendy, can I come up? I really, desperately need your help with something.” Dipper spoke just loudly enough to be audible but still discreet. It was a talent cultivated through years of sneaking around.

Wendy pretended to look thoughtful. “Will it get me arrested for treason or burned at the stake?”

“That is…undeniably possible,” he admitted.

“Sweet, I’m in. Come on up.” She winked and tossed a rope down. Despite the grim circumstances, Dipper couldn’t help grinning as he made his way up.

Wendy’s room was exciting and extraordinary as always, littered with various gadgets and pieces of technology that weren’t supposed to exist. There was even a section of her closet labeled “Objects Useful for the Impending and Inevitable Apocalypse.” Whether it was tongue-in-cheek or a genuine precaution, Dipper wasn’t sure.

Anyone who ventured into Wendy’s room would immediately figure out that she wasn’t the brainless arm candy she pretended to be as a public façade, but anyone who ventured into her room without permission probably wouldn’t live long enough to spread that information anyway.

“So what can I do for you at this lovely hour?” She asked.

Dipper smiled wryly. “You got some time? It’s a long story.”

“Nothing better to do,” Wendy shrugged casually. “Let’s hear it.”

Dipper told her the whole story involving Mabel. She knew everything else already, including his association with Bill and their treasonous sentiments towards the emperor. In fact, she’d been really helpful in helping him investigate and try to uncover Phoenix’s true plans. Even Wendy’s clearance wasn’t high enough to give her information on what the emperor was plotting, which was another indication that it was likely very dangerous and indisputably unethical. When Dipper had told Bill that he wasn’t spilling state secrets to Wendy, he’d been circumventing the truth because Wendy didn’t need anyone to tell her state secrets; she _produced_ state secrets. Dipper didn’t want to draw any attention to Wendy that might get her in trouble, especially given her position in government.

“You know this bracelet on my arm that tracks my every move and restricts my magic? I’ve found a way to get it off, but I need your shady connections to help me with that.” Dipper said as he concluded his story.

“My shady connections are your shady connections. What do you have in mind?”

“Well, the spell on my bracelet is impossible to break because it’s tied to my life force. The only way to bypass it would be to die and somehow come back, basically tricking the spell into releasing its hold on me once it believes I’m dead. I think I’ve found a spell that would allow me to die temporarily, but it’s pretty risky and there’s little to no guarantee I can actually make it back. I need your help looking for someone with strong magical abilities to perform the spell for me. Someone with no moral compunctions about potentially killing someone.”

“Dipper, that sounds incredibly dangerous,” Wendy said carefully. “Have you…looked into any alternatives? Controlled clinical death, maybe? Some surgical procedures require keeping the patient at a low temperature state and stopping heart, lung, and brain activity for a limited time. The patient would be clinically dead in this state, but can still recover after the procedure.”

Dipper shook his head. “It wouldn’t be enough. My soul needs to…leave this plane, for lack of a better description.”

Wendy’s expression was serious. “I can find someone to help you with the spell, Dipper. I trust your judgement, but please be smart, okay?”

“I don’t know if I can afford to ‘be smart’ anymore,” Dipper replied. “I have to take this chance.”

Wendy looked at him searchingly for a long moment before finally nodding.

“I’ll send someone your way. Good luck, Dipper.”

“Thanks. For everything I mean. If anything happens, Wendy…you’ve been a great friend. Keep fighting the good fight, all right?”

“Sure, Dipper. Viva la revolución,” she deadpanned, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a warm smile.

 

A week later, Wendy’s contact reached out to him and Dipper responded with the details of the spell he required. He ended up scheduling their meeting for a night he was sure Bill was overseas and wouldn’t be able to find out and interfere. He had a feeling Bill would try and stop him from doing this if he knew, but this wasn’t Bill’s choice. It was Dipper’s.

His hands trembled the entire day leading up to the event and he spent every moment convincing himself not to back out. All it took to make a grand, spontaneous decision like this was recklessness and desperation, but it would take real courage to commit wholly to the decision without fear. Dipper never considered himself a courageous person, but this time he would take the risk for Mabel.

The hours passed too soon, and the culmination of all his anxiety finally approached as night fell. When the mage arrived he and Dipper barely spoke to one another. Dipper spent the entirely of the spell preparation numb and unfocused, allowing the spellcaster to move him around like a rag doll. When the cool blade of the knife first touched his skin, Dipper didn’t even flinch. It was like he was already divorced from his body. Twin lines were cut laterally along each of his forearms, forming matching rings of blood that encircled an area below his elbow. Rivulets of red trickled down his arm as he arranged his hands with palms to the ground, wrists joined and fingers spread like butterfly wings.

The spellcaster spoke the incantations in a lazy and dispassionate way that revealed his disinterest in the proceedings, but Dipper could hardly bring himself to care. As the dissonant syllables of the spell floated in the air around him like chaotic noise, black inkiness diffused slowly across his field of vision until Dipper was plunged into a boundless world of dark.

 

* * *

 

An ocean away, Bill Cipher crashed to the ground in the middle of a conference at foreign embassy.

All at once he felt nothing, everything, confusion, hot, cold, agony. He clutched his soulmark as his vision became too bright, too unfocused, and everything around him disintegrated into blurry splotches of color and light.

“A link is breaking,” he heard a voice say. The voice sounded faint, as if it was miles and miles away from him. The whole room suddenly felt miles and miles away.

“His soulmate has passed.” Another disembodied voice, echoey and distant. It sounded shocked, sympathetic. It was the last thing Bill heard before falling into unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

When Dipper opened his eyes the sun was glimmering through the trees and he was in front of a labyrinth. An infamous labyrinth. The one built millennia ago by the first Cipher. But why did he know this? How did he recognize it? He’d certainly never seen it before, and there were no pictures of it in circulation. It was magically protected, the knowledge of its location strictly guarded. Only the Ciphers were able to find and access it. To everyone else, it might as well have been an intangible legend.

Also, strangely enough, the last time Dipper checked it had been autumn, but here soft flakes of snow drifted calmly onto the white blanket over the ground, falling too slowly to appear natural. The trees around him drooped slightly under weight of winter. He didn’t feel the cold at all. He didn’t feel anything, but it made him shiver anyway. Was he dead? Was this what death was like? Everything felt so serene, so calm. He felt no urgency in any of his actions, like he was purposeless. It was liberating. He wanted to lie down on top of the snow and just rest, letting gravity pull him down slowly, inch by inch until he was indistinguishable from his surroundings, until he became part of winter itself.

But, no. He had come here for a purpose, hadn’t he? There was a little niggling in the corner of his mind, telling him he had something to do, somewhere to be.

He brushed little specks of snow off his lashes and almost sighed before slipping through the gates to the maze. He had a feeling this was where he was meant to go.

The walls of the structure were so tall they loomed over him, but Dipper didn’t feel intimidated. Instead he felt strangely protected. Safe. As he walked through the labyrinth he experienced a strange sense of familiarity, a sensation of déjà vu. The twists and turns and overall aesthetic of the maze seemed to jog his memory more and more as he progressed. It was the sensation of rediscovering a treasured artwork or book he’d once loved enough to memorize every detail of, but had eventually forgotten with time. Yet, something felt off about that comparison. The labyrinth didn’t feel like someone else’s masterpiece; it felt like _his own_ , like something he himself had dreamt up, had conceived and designed once upon a time.

How? How was that possible? How could he possibly claim the labyrinth as his own creation?

As if his mind was answering him, it conjured up a distant memory of himself wandering thoughtfully through a partially complete labyrinth, tearing down walls, adding new ones, changing passages and creating new twists and turns with a simple flick of his wrist. In the memory he felt someone warm behind him, a hand on his back, but when he turned to see who it was the memory faded and he found himself back in an ancient, worn down labyrinth. The vision raised more questions than it answered. Whose memories were those?

Before Dipper knew it, he’d arrived at the middle of the labyrinth effortlessly. In the center of the room, entangled in bare vines and covered by a thin sheet of snow stood a tall statue of a sphynx. It looked like it had been majestic once upon a time, but time and decay had eaten at its splendor.

Then suddenly its mouth twisted and it spoke.

“Dipper Pines. You are not meant to be here.” It spoke slowly in a voice akin to a groan, like it had to wait for its hard stone mouth to slowly shape the words.

“Not meant to be here? In this labyrinth?” Dipper asked, confused.

“No, here. The beyond. The realm of the unliving.”

Dipper had suspected, but hearing it spoken out loud made it all the more real.

“So I’m dead? This is it? This is what it’s like to be dead? I’d imagined something…well, more.”

“No, this is not truly death. It is more akin to a facsimile or approximation of death, as you arrived here using unconventional means.”

“You said I don’t belong here. Why?” Dipper demanded.

“The other is once again awake, so you should be as well. He returned as you did. But you have come back, and it is not your time to come back yet.”

“The other? Which other?”

“Who else would it be?” The statue asked.

Then the weight of the sky collapsed on him and Dipper awoke gasping.

 

* * *

 

As Dipper struggled to sit up, he noticed the sun had risen and the spellcaster was long gone. Even though his body felt battered, the overwhelming sensation of magic once again running through his veins was impossibly exhilarating. Thirteen, _thirteen_ years without his magic, and now he was finally whole again. Over the years he’d slowly forgotten what he’d lost, but now that he’d fought and won it back he never wanted to lose it again. He couldn’t stop tears from flowing down his face.

Since the magic-negating bracelets were no longer tied to his life force, he was able to slip them off his wrists easily. The tracker on the bracelet was a separate component. It was a digital, non-magical mechanism that was still functional even though the magic inhibiting enchantment was deactivated. That meant he could leave the bracelets anywhere, and anyone who cared to check his whereabouts would be easily fooled about his location.

His mind was still a maddening mess of frantic confusion following his near-death experience. There was so much new information to sift through and stew over. Nothing made sense. Why wasn’t he meant to be dead? What did this “other” person have to do with anything? Were they destined to accomplish something important together before death? It was a new mystery to solve, one that he had no time to think about now. He needed to focus on planning his escape so he could leave before anyone realized something was wrong.

He knew where he would have to go to find information on Mabel’s whereabouts. The Asulon Market wasn’t just a place that sold rare artefacts and powerful conduits of magic, but also a place that traded in secrets and information. The last time he’d stepped foot in the market his whole world had turned upside down and he’d paid for his transgressions by losing his freedom, but he would have to return to the location that had set him down on this path in the first place.

This time, however, he would not go as a thief. This time he would go as a patron.

Living in the palace had its benefits, namely an abundance of material wealth that Dipper was more than happy to take advantage of. Most riches, like the famous Jewels of Iyssira were on grand display, locked behind security so impenetrable that Dipper had no chance in hell of breaking through. But there were also items of extreme value in the palace that were potentially more priceless than gems—priceless to the right people, anyway. Items overlooked and accessible—hidden, but not well enough. Items such as the rare books in the secret alcove in the library.

Throughout the years Dipper had spent a lot of time cataloguing those books, researching and digging around to determine if any of them were of value to anyone. It turned out that many of them were highly sought out by wealthy collectors, some even considered priceless in certain circles. If he could sell a couple of them at the markets, then he would be able to pay a price high enough to learn of Mabel’s whereabouts.

Using his newly returned magic, Dipper easily bypassed the guards stationed at his door with a charm that rendered him unnoticeable. He slipped in and out of the library, returning to his room armed with a stack of yellowed books that were astonishingly well-preserved despite their age. He was reluctant to part with one of the books in the pile—a bestiary of magical creatures that once existed but were slain in conflicts or rendered extinct by natural processes. Dipper loved that book and had curled up to devour its contents on many a rainy day. It was guaranteed to fetch a good price though, and in the grand scheme of things it was a small sacrifice to pay to make things right.

Once Dipper packed everything necessary for his departure, he dropped to the floor with a tired sigh and gazed out the window. He itched to leave, but it didn’t feel right to disappear without saying anything to Bill, especially since he didn’t know if he would ever return. He decided to wait a night for Bill to return from overseas. Bill was supposed to arrive back at the palace tomorrow, but if Bill’s trip was delayed then Dipper would just have to leave without saying goodbye. He couldn’t afford to keep waiting and risk getting caught.

 

To Dipper’s relief, Bill did in fact return the next day. That night he popped into Dipper’s room brandishing a gaudy souvenir at him. It was a sparkly monstrosity representing some sort of landmark that Bill had probably purchased just for kicks.

“I brought you something! A souvenir! You know, since you can’t travel anywhere.” He waved it around and little LED lights on it lit up.

“Thanks,” Dipper said dryly. “It’s painful to look at.”

“I carried it over twenty thousand miles to bring to you,” Bill said with poorly feigned sadness.

“Because you knew I would hate it,” Dipper shot back, but he wasn’t quite in the mood for banter tonight.

“Details," Bill said with a wave. He suddenly noticed Dipper’s stuffed backpack at the foot of his bed.

“Going somewhere?” Bill asked curiously.

Dipper had been prepared to tell Bill he was leaving, but he hadn’t really prepared for _how_ to tell him.  He found himself gazing out the window, at a loss for what to say.

“Bill…” Dipper started, then faltered. The words stuck in his throat and wouldn’t come out. Bill noticed the serious expression on Dipper’s face and sobered, all trace of humor gone.

“Did something else happen while I was awa—?”

“—I’m leaving,” Dipper blurted, the words forcing themselves out of his mouth in such an artless way that it made him cringe.

Bill stopped. The souvenir which he had been mindlessly tossing up and down fell to the floor and cracked apart.

“Not just for tonight,” Bill said quietly. It wasn’t a question.

“No.” Dipper stared out the window to avoid the weight of Bill’s gaze. “I’ve found a way to remove my tracker and restore my magic.”

“You…You’re not allowed to do this to me,” Bill said in a voice carefully controlled to exclude emotion. “You promised you would work by my side, help me save the empire from Phoenix’s blind ambition. You can’t just… _leave_ before we’ve accomplished our goals. I never planned for that.”

“And I never planned for any of this! I never planned to spend years of my life trapped here, but look where I ended up anyway!” Dipper said in exasperation before forcing himself to calm down. It wasn’t Bill’s fault, any of it.

“Look, I…I’m sorry, Bill. I really am. But I can’t just leave Mabel where she is. I failed her more than once, and I won’t do it again.”

“You promised me your loyalty. You promised to see this through with me. You promised. You promised!” Bill shouted. A light fixture nearby glowed hot before shattering to bits. Bill’s temper was always a sight to behold. The room was probably going to be an unrecognizable mass of broken pieces by the time they were done with this conversation.

“Bill, calm down,” Dipper said desperately. For a moment he wished he’d chosen to slip away quietly into the night without letting Bill know.

“What do I have to be calm about? Everyone keeps leaving me!” Bill snarled. That outburst of anger seemed to stem from much more than just the situation at hand, and Dipper had a moment of realization that Bill might’ve been quietly dealing with abandonment issues this whole time.

“…Your mother?” Dipper asked tentatively, hesitating to touch the subject.

Bill stewed in quiet anger for a long while. “My soulmate died while I was away. I felt it.”

Dipper’s mouth parted in shock. He felt a surge of sympathetic pain at Bill’s loss. That must have been an indescribably awful feeling. Granted, Dipper wished his own soulmate would die, but he knew that was absolutely a unique case. It must have felt like losing something that you knew would make you better, complete, _whole_. Losing a soulmate at such a young age. God, how would that even feel?

“Bill, I am so, so sorry. I can’t even imagine...” Apology after apology. Dipper felt like a broken record.

They sat again in tense silence, Bill pushing around the glittering, broken pieces of souvenir with his feet.

“I could make you stay, you know,” Bill finally spoke. “I could open that door now, let the guards know about your plans to escape, let the emperor ensure you’re confined to the palace. Here, with me.”

“No, Bill.” Dipper exhaled, feeling exhausted down to his bones. “I won’t last any longer here. I’m not strong enough. Every day I stare at the palace walls and feel like a prisoner denied access to my own actions, my own body, my own rights. I don’t want to do this anymore. Knowing you helped me cope through a lot of this hell, which I’m grateful for, but...Bill, if you make me stay you’d be no better than your father.”

Bill held his gaze with an intensity that could puncture walls, as if willing Dipper to understand something that neither of them quite understood yet. “I wouldn’t mind being no better than the emperor—or even being worse than him, for that matter—if it meant I could keep you with me here forever.

Dipper opened his mouth to argue, but Bill interrupted. “But I know that if I force you to stay now, it wouldn’t be on my terms. Or yours. It would be on the emperor’s terms, and that idea leaves the worst taste in my mouth.”

Dipper wasn’t sure what to say. He was still trying to form a coherent response when Bill spoke again.

“Let me make you a promise, Dipper Pines.” Bill almost never called him Dipper. Not unless it was serious. “I promise that one day I will be in power, and when that time comes you’ll be free to come back if you wish. We can work together side-by-side again, just like we always have. I should warn you, however, that if you do decide to return I don’t think I’d find it in me to allow you to leave again.”

“Bold statements,” Dipper said, too stunned by the weight behind those words to say anything more substantial.

“Think on it when you’re away,” Bill said softly.

Dipper said nothing, just nodded.

Bill stood, dipping his head with a degree of finality before flickering away like an extinguished flame.

Dipper wondered when, or if, he would see Bill again.

 

* * *

 

Since lunar perigee was still a week away and the market would not be accessible until then, Dipper spent the interim time hiding out in a sketchy motel a few miles away from the market. He wanted badly to check in on his family members, but a move like that would be too risky since the emperor’s men were undoubtedly searching for him all over the country.

Once the days passed and the anticipated night approached, Dipper wrapped himself in a nondescript black cloak over plain black clothes, forgoing his usual jeans and tee in order to better blend in. He felt a little ridiculous, but the hood would add another layer of concealment on top the strong charm he cast to render himself unrecognizable. It was a charm he constructed himself utilizing an innovative, more modern type of experimental magic, so it should bypass the old and antiquated magical security of the Asulon Markets. He’d spent a year teaching himself this new magical language, hoping it would come in handy at some point. He was kind of giddy at finally being able to make good use of this knowledge.

When he arrived at the market for the second time in his life, he felt much more confident than he had the last time he’d been here, mainly because this time he actually had bartering power. He spent his time drifting in and out of shops which specialized in the rare book trade, trying to find the highest bidders for his items. He relished the stunned looks on the faces of many shopkeepers as they glanced upon books they’d originally believed to be mythical or lost eternally, touching them with a gentle reverence that bared their passion for their trade.

Once Dipper finished trading his books, he found himself armed with enough currency to escape to a tropical island and live comfortably for several lifetimes. It was a nice fantasy, albeit unrealistic.

There were many sources within Asulon from which he could ascertain information. The most widely sought out source was the Nameless Network, an association which relied on an endless variety of methods both magical and technological to gather knowledge. There were many similar such organizations floating around the markets.

Another source was an enigmatic oracle that was actually nameless, mentioned in texts only by description as “the one who knows.” Since Dipper was drawn towards mysteries like a moth to flame, he made the impulsive choice to search for the oracle, who he eventually located in the back room of a modest little herb shop in one of the more nondescript corners of the markets.

The shop was small and cozy, and smelled like a blend of earth and rain with just a hint of bergamot. As Dipper stepped through the curtains that led to the back room, he found himself face to face with young girl who looked to be about twelve years of age. She was wearing a still, almost emotionless expression reminiscent of that of a porcelain doll.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Dipper Pines.” She spoke softly, her voice deceptively ordinary as if it really did belong to a young child, but Dipper knew better. He knew she had existed for longer than the market itself.

“That’s odd, I don’t remember booking an appointment,” Dipper replied evenly.

“Don’t be absurd. I decide who I meet, not the other way around,” she said dismissively.

“You wanted to see me then?” Dipper asked. “Do you already know why I’m here?”

“You came to ask after Mabel.” She knew, of course she knew.

“I did, and it’s really important to me, so please, if you could tell me where she is…I should be able to pay the price.”

“You march in here armed with an abundance of wealth, but who says my price is money?” She raised an eyebrow lightly in challenge. It had never occurred to him that the oracle might want something else.

“What is your price then?” He asked curiously.

“I do not have a price, but it was quite presumptuous of you to think that I did.”

“I—sorry?” He hoped he hadn’t offended her. It was hard to tell since she was so impassive and difficult to read. “Can you please help me?”

“I will tell you all that you need to know, starting with, yes, the location of your sister. Sit. Do you like sugar in your tea?”

“Um, sure.”

She picked up a tiny spoon and wordlessly stirred sugar into his teacup, swirling so slowly he felt he was going to die of anticipation. After an eternity she drew the spoon out and tapped it delicately against the rim of the cup before finally setting it down gently.

“Firstly, your sister is currently working for a group called the Alliance of Shadows. They are an old and established order of killers committed to maintaining the balance of power in the world, taking action in accordance with their own visions and ideals. My role in the world is theoretically an impartial one; I am required to see everything in an objective manner, but I admit it is quite difficult to perceive the Alliance impartially given that they have been attempting to assassinate me for centuries. They believe I hold too much power.”

“Mabel tried to kill me. Why would she do that?” Dipper asked desperately. He was almost afraid to hear the answer.

“She lacks the agency to act against their wishes. They have sequestered her memories and shaped her to believe that her actions are for the greater good. To her knowledge, she is simply trying to assassinate a political figure tied to a ruthless despot, not her own brother.”

It brought him a sense of relief to know that Mabel wasn’t acting out of a need for revenge, but at the same time it also brought him a sense of dread. “This isn’t all right. Mabel Pines is not a killer. How can there be any good in a world where someone like Mabel is a killer? I should’ve found her a long time ago.” Short nails dug into the wood of the table. “I need to go find her _now_.”

“And you will. I can show you the way. But I can see that you have other questions. Important ones. I may be able to answer.”

Dipper was thrown off for a second. “I guess I do have other questions, but I haven’t been letting myself think too deeply about anything other than finding my sister.”

She sipped her tea calmly and waited for him to collect his thoughts. Dipper noticed her drink was thick and blood red in color, unlike his own tea which was a normal translucent brown.

Dipper worked to articulate his confusion about his recent death in a way that was at least coherent. “So I sort of…died recently. And when I was there, at the place that’s not quite the afterlife, I saw these—these memories, I guess. I remember building a labyrinth, the one belonging to the Ciphers. But I couldn’t have built it. I’ve never even seen it in person! I felt glimpses of other memories too, images that I somehow _knew_ were memories but didn’t ever remember living.”

“Memories of a past life. It’s to be expected that you recalled them more strongly when you were standing in the gap between living and death.”

“A past life?”

She hummed patiently as she refilled her own teacup. This time the tea in her cup was a warm brown. Dipper wondered if he imagined the blood red liquid.

“To build context, I suppose we should tell the story from the very beginning. The founder of your empire, as you might have heard, was not a very good man. He was born with such a vast amount of power that even his parents were frightened of him, let alone the rest of the world. The Demon Council voted to end his life when he was still young, but despite trying again and again they never succeeded. One can imagine the bitterness he felt growing up amidst such hatred. Perhaps it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, perhaps he was always meant for the path he took—regardless, his anger and ambition shaped him into wrathful conqueror. Like many tyrants, he decided that if the world would not accept him he would make it kneel to him instead.”

“Seems like a lonely existence,” Dipper commented.

“It does, doesn’t it? He eventually did find his soulmate, however, in someone who was compassionate and caring. Someone who did everything possible to turn him away from his destructive path. For a while the world breathed a sigh of relief, but it didn’t last; Cipher’s hunger for power had already consumed him and warped him beyond saving. In his final move for power, he ventured into the mindscape and turned the creatures of the nightmare realm into his personal army in order to rule over his subjects with fear. When his soulmate followed him into the mindscape to stop him, Cipher lashed out against him too hard and accidentally destroyed his soulmate’s mind.”

“That doesn’t sound like someone worth loving.”

At that, her lips quirked up minutely like she was appreciating an inside joke. “And yet…”

“What happened afterwards?” Dipper asked.

“He realized that his effort to rule the world had actually cost him his world. To say he was devastated would be an understatement. You must have heard of the geological mystery that is the massive canyon to the west of Psykhestris. The reason why geologists can’t make any sense of it is because it wasn’t a natural phenomenon, but rather an artefact of Cipher’s grief and rage. Eventually he became desperate enough to bargain with the gods, who were willing to give him a second chance on the condition that when he returned in his next life, he would find redemption and put an end to the endless cycle of death and destruction he’d set in motion. You, Dipper, are part of his redemption.”

“I don’t like where this is going. Please tell me I’m just the reincarnation of his grossly mistreated manservant.”

“You already know that cannot be true. He spent the short remainder of his life constructing the labyrinth you designed together in the mindscape. That is why you have memories of building it.”

“If you’re implying what I think you’re implying—that my soulmate is the reincarnation of the founder of Psykhestris, then I’m sorry to say that it doesn’t look like Cipher is looking to find redemption in this life anytime soon. Phoenix is still mad, still blindly power-hungry, and barely cares that I exist on most days.”

She tilted her head slightly. “Phoenix? Who said anything about Phoenix? Your soulmate has never been Phoenix Cipher.”

Dipper frowned. “I’m not sure I understand,” he finally said.

She sighed deeply as if his ignorance brought her pain. “Your soulmate, Dipper Pines, is Bill Cipher. It always has been, and it always will be.”

And that—well, that changed everything.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update recently. I'll do better now that I'm much less busy!
> 
> Also, just wanted to let everyone know that nothing ~untoward will happen between Bill and Dipper until Bill is of age.


	7. Interlude

It wasn’t a life Mabel had wanted. Although she had no memories of her life before the Alliance, she could somehow feel deep down in her bones that the Mabel from Before wouldn’t have wanted this for herself.

One chilly winter morning thirteen years ago, Mabel had woken up in a dingy apartment with no idea where she was and no memory of her past, her sole piece of knowledge about herself being her first name. The windows of the room had been broken and hastily boarded up, casting the room in darkness except for the small beams of sunlight sneaking in through cracks. Heating was nonexistent despite the cold, and Mabel had curled up in the thin blankets left for her until someone finally came.

When the door creaked open, Mabel was met with a very prim and proper man dressed in an elegant navy pea coat. He didn’t look like he belong in such a derelict apartment. He looked respectable and fairly handsome, and a part of her hoped that he’d come to save her from…whatever this was.

“I apologize for the unfortunate accommodations, my lady. It is only necessary until you can prove yourself to the Alliance.” He spoke with an implacable accent in an oddly old-fashioned manner, and while Mabel knew nothing of herself, she at least knew she didn’t live in the flipping Middle Ages. She thought maybe he was one of those immortals who’d given trying to adapt with the times and were content to be walking anachronisms.

“Who are you? I don’t remember you. I’m sorry, I don’t remember anything. I don’t even remember who _I_ am.” Voicing her fears out loud somehow made her more afraid.

“Who you were is not important. Not anymore,” he said, trying to sound comforting and coming off stiff instead. “What is important is who I represent—The Alliance of Shadows.”

“Well you do sound kind of…shady,” she cracked weakly. He didn’t smile. Puns were a no, then.

“What is this Alliance of Shadows?” She asked finally, praying she hadn’t gotten herself involved with organized crime.

“It is an ancient secret society that has seen the rise and fall of numerous civilizations.” He explained. As he spoke, his tone became more zealous, more fervent. “An organization working tirelessly and without credit to maintain the balance of power in the world, preventing the self-destruction of this realm. We slip into shadows unseen, eliminating those we have objectively determined pose a threat to the stability of the world. We are assassins working for the good of all races inhabiting the earth, and this is your opportunity to join us.”

“I’m glad you feel so passionate about your job. ‘Do what you love’ and whatnot. But you can’t spirit people away for your righteous crusades!” Mabel protested. “What about my family? Friends? Pets! Houseplants!”

At the mention of her family, his eyes widened slightly before his expression turned somber. “I am sorry, I truly am."

There was a tense silence in which he didn’t elaborate and simply looked at her pityingly. Mabel sensed what was coming and felt her expression crumble.

“Your family is…gone. They passed away in a dreadful tragedy and you were utterly distraught. You wished to forget, to begin anew, and the Alliance was willing to give you that. _Tabula rasa_ —a blank slate.”

“No,” she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks at a loss she couldn’t even recall. Or maybe she was upset _because_ she couldn’t recall it.

“Why…why me?” She asked. “Why does the Alliance want me?”

“Most of the chosen are selected for their skills, strength, abilities, or intelligence. You were chosen for a different reason.”

“Different how?”

“You were chosen because one of our elders discovered that your soulmate is our leader—our divine guidance—our queen in all but name. The Alliance would weaken without her, and you are an unknown variable with the power to potentially threaten our existence. The same elder ordered me to bring you to us to let you prove that belong in the Alliance—to prove that you are worthy of being her soulmate and holding a place at her side. Since our leader belongs to a race of immortals, we have decided to gift you with the ability to stem your mortality, giving you enough time to win our confidence and reverence, however long that may take.”

Mabel’s head spun at the knowledge. “Who is she? My soulmate.” What was she like? Was she kind? Cold? Gentle? Vicious? What did she like to do on Friday evenings? Sunday mornings?

“Her identity is known only by the elders, and that is the way it must remain. You must prove yourself before we can allow you to meet her. It will be a long journey, but we have faith that you will succeed.”

“Prove myself. How?”

A corner of his mouth tugged up forming a sharp smile. “Death count.”

 

After that encounter Mabel began the slow process of working her way up the organization, training and carrying out missions unquestioningly until she proved trustworthy enough to earn a place at the Court of Shadows. The Court served as the base of operations for the Alliance. Built out of an enormous, repurposed old fortress, it housed the Council of Elders as well as many other members of the organization. It was where most of the Alliance’s decisions and plans were formulated.

Mabel worked tirelessly to prove herself competent and earn the trust of the Alliance. Some days she wondered if she truly did want to meet her soulmate so desperately, or if that was merely something she told herself because it was much easier than trying to chase her past. Maybe it was just easier to resign herself to blind obedience than to fight against an organization of immense power with no resources of her own.

Each time she aimed to kill, she found comfort in the fact that she did it for the greater good. She believed she did it for her love of people, her love of humanity. Despite having no memories of the past, Mabel was sure of one thing: everything she did, everything she had ever done, was out of love. If there was a niggling voice in her head once in a blue moon telling her that maybe, just maybe some things she did were actually out of fear, she successfully ignored it because that way lay guilt and uncertainty.

Now, after thirteen years of working for the Alliance, Mabel was mostly settled in this way of life, but tonight she found herself deeply bothered by her thoughts. She usually tried hard to avoid reflecting on her actions, but this time her thoughts kept travelling back to her latest assassination attempt. A few days ago at the palace, there was that boy…

Mabel had killed more people than she could remember, but none of them had ever had the same look on their face as he did—the look of utter betrayal and hurt. Usually the targets looked scared, desperate, or resigned, as if they understood that it was their choices and actions that had led them to such a fate.

Evil came in all shapes and sizes, she reminded herself. The sickest individual could be packaged in an innocent, harmless looking exterior. Even unicorns that radiated a sense of purity could be conceited and maniacal, which was unfortunately something she’d found out the hard way.

Shaking her head lightly as if she could shake away her doubts, Mabel closed her eyes and invited sleep.

 

* * *

 

Mabel woke up to the shrill sound of an alarm piercing the air. It was the alarm signaling an intruder on the premises. It was easy for anyone to break into headquarters once they knew its location, but it was much more difficult to move undetected within the building due to the multiple alarms that could be triggered by wrong movements.

Mabel grumbled but was on her feet instantly, grabbing a sharp dagger from her sizable weapons cache and heading out the door. Just as she stepped outside her room, a boy appeared out of thin air, presumably casting off his concealment charm, and pushed her back inside before shutting the door closed behind them.

"Mabel, please. I need to speak with you,” her assailant begged, holding his arms out placatingly. It was the boy from the palace. Her target.

"Try anything and I will introduce your eye to the tip of this dagger." She warned.

"I promise I won’t try anything. I just want to talk."

"They'll find you, you know. You have a few minutes at most. So talk."

"Is there anything you remember from your past? Anything at all? Glimpses, places, people?" He began.

She considered how much information she was willing to reveal before deciding it wouldn’t hurt to tell him, especially as it was unlikely he could leave here unscathed. "No, nothing. Except my first name, Mabel."

The stranger closed his eyes for a few moments before opening them again with a resigned air.

"Mabel Pines. Your name is Mabel Pines, just like mine is Dipper Pines. I'm your twin," he said.

Mabel narrowed her eyes. "I have no living family."

"And how exactly do you know that? Because the Alliance told you? And why should you trust the Alliance?" He said angrily.

His anger triggered her defensiveness, and she found herself raising her voice. "The Alliance has no reason to lie to me! They do noble work and have pure intentions, whereas you have every reason to lie to me to save your own skin!"

"By walking right into the viper's pit?" Dipper said incredulously. "Are you even listening to yourself?"

Mabel crossed her arms. Dipper sighed and leaned back against the door, slumping down to the ground and closing his eyes.

"Leave here with me. Let me prove it to you, and if you don't believe me you can come right back. Mabel, come on." He swallowed. "I miss you."

Mabel considered his words for a long moment before setting her dagger down on the floor in a gesture of good faith. She chose to say nothing. It was an impossible request anyway. There was no conceivable way they could make it out of here.

"Even without your memories can't you feel that we're, you know, somehow connected?" Dipper asked. “You have to. We shared the same amniotic sac. Mom said you tried to strangle me to death a few times with your umbilical cord, but we were born holding hands." He spoke as if he was trying to share and inside joke, but it was an inside joke that was completely lost on her. He grinned fondly at the memory.

Mabel didn't know what to make of this boy. If he was spinning lies, then Mabel would lose a decade's worth of progress in the Alliance for not wholly believing in them. And what if this was a test of her loyalty to the Alliance? What if they wanted to know that she had no doubts about the organization's mission and fabricated this whole scenario as a chance for her to prove it? This could be the final step before they finally accepted her, finally let her meet the other half of her soul.

Before Mabel could make a decision, the door forcefully flew open and Dipper was knocked onto his side.

A group of five Alliance members stood at the door, a few of which Mabel recognized. Two came forward, grabbed Dipper, and restrained him. The other three at the door stepped aside, and Elder Frierson passed through. Mabel bowed her head respectfully. She owed a lot to Elder Frierson. He was the one who had found her and led her towards this path.

“Whatever words this man has spoken to you are poison. Do not let his lies taint your path of righteousness.” The elder spoke in a deep and smooth, reassuring voice. Mabel had been worried that they would suspect her of conspiracy, but it seemed the elder believed in her dedication to the cause more than she herself did.

The elder looked towards Dipper. “We will bring this man to the Room of Judgement, where he can be brought to justice for his crimes against universal harmony and for his intrusion of our sacred grounds.”

As they hauled him away he didn’t protest, just turned his head backwards and looked back at Mabel with a pleading expression as they dragged him towards his fate.

The door closed behind him and Mabel could feel herself trembling long after they’d gone.

In the beginning, there were countless times Mabel had wished someone from her past would come and take her away, that someone would help her recover her memories and reveal that she was someone who was loved. Missed. How many times had she dreamed that it was all a mistake, that her family was alive and well and searching for her? But years passed and no one came and Mabel didn’t want to bear the weight of futile wishing any longer. It was around then that she began to understand and believe in the purpose of the Alliance. She saw that cruel despots had been eliminated by her hands, along with greedy leaders of massive corporations built on exploiting others. She accepted that she was willing to do the dirty work, unthanked, to halt the world from its descent into discord and chaos.

And yet…hadn’t there also been moments when she doubted that all people she killed truly needed to be dead to protect society? However, every time Mabel found herself thinking along those lines she forcefully stopped herself because otherwise she would have to consider all those she’d possibly wronged in the past, and she was not masochistic enough to entertain all that guilt.

She knew she would not renounce the Alliance of Shadows since she’d long accepted it for what it was, but she wasn’t heartless enough to condemn a potential innocent to death, especially one who claimed to know her.

Repeating over and over to herself that this was the right thing to do, she steeled herself and sprinted towards the chamber where her visitor awaited judgement.

A stern voice was echoing through the chamber. “—votes have been cast, and the verdict is clear. His death is essential to one of our chief goals: eliminating the emperor Cipher.”

“Elder!” Mabel shouted frantically as she rushed in, her voice ringing clearly across the hall.

At her outburst Elder Frierson looked…not surprised, exactly, but perturbed. Apprehensive. Dipper’s eyes were tentatively hopeful.

“I want to invoke my exemption,” Mabel said, determined.

The elder’s eyes widened. His mouth parted but no words came out. He clenched and unclenched his fists numerous times in succession before finally managing to speak. “Mabel, surely you would not invoke your only exemption for one particularly skilled storyteller. You have years, decades, perhaps centuries ahead of you, and you can only choose one life to spare.”

“I’m certain,” Mabel said, sounding surer than she felt.

As a counterbalance to the lives taken by each Alliance member, each of them was given a gift—a single opportunity to preserve the life of a chosen target. With a caveat. Although the exempt individual was spared, they were suspended in a sleep-like, near death state for an indefinite amount of time. Each year on the anniversary of their sentence the five elders would vote on whether or not to release them, and freedom required a unanimous decision. The hope was always that one day, world circumstances might alter drastically enough that the slumbering prisoner was no longer considered a threat to peace, and the elders would decide to grant them reprieve.

Currently there were maybe twenty such exempt lying in wait in the Hall of Amnesty. The first time Mabel had glimpsed their silhouettes in the dull blue lighting of the room she thought they were exquisitely sculpted statues. In the seven or so years since Mabel had first walked through the hall, she hadn’t seen a single person disappear from its depths.

One sleepless night, Mabel had impulsively climbed out of bed to visit the frozen figures when she’d come across Trembley, the one who’d trained her in assembling a sniper rifle and striking a target hundreds of meters away. In that moment he’d traded away his usual sunny, lighthearted façade for a look of melancholy hurt and was simply standing there, staring wistfully at a still, unmoving young boy. His son, he revealed. Trembley’s hair was whitening from age, and he worried that he would die before his son had the chance to be pardoned. The sleeping captives were only preserved so long as the Alliance members who’d chosen to save them were alive, and Trembley was human. Mortal. That meant if Trembley died, his son would not live for very long after that.

It wasn’t an ideal solution for saving the boy who claimed to be her brother, but it was the only option she had. And if she found out he was a liar then she would murder him with her own bare hands.

Elder Frierson looked like he would rather drink his own piss than carry out the request, but not even an elder could interfere with a rule so instilled in the Alliance’s history.

“It will be done,” the elder said with a curt nod before turning and striding stiffly out of the room without so much as a parting word. Two assassins followed closely behind him with their prisoner in tow.

“Wait, Mabel!” Dipper shouted hurriedly as the large doors began shutting behind them. “I _know_ you. You had a teacup pig named Waddles, a wardrobe full of gaudy sweaters you should’ve outgrown by twelve, and an unhealthy fondness for questionable boybands! You wouldn’t have wanted to live like thi—”

The doors slammed shut.

 _What did you want me to say?_ Mabel thought as he disappeared.

She still didn’t know what to believe.

 

* * *

 

Once every year on the anniversary of his sentence, Mabel visited the boy she had equal parts saved and condemned. Every year the Council of Elders denied him reprieve.

For five years she did this—woke up early in the morning and slipped downstairs to stand for hours in front of the motionless, doll-like figure softly lit in luminescent blue. They didn’t share many similar features. There was nothing about them that immediately suggested they were related.

Every time she thought about trying to track down information on herself or on the sleeping stranger, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Mabel was afraid. What if it forced her to confront truths that she couldn’t turn away from? She wasn’t sure if there was a place for her in the outside world anymore. Here, at least she was content. She had purpose.

Even if he was telling the truth and he really was her twin, that in no way guaranteed a happy ending. She’d read his background file back when he was her target. Maybe he was her brother, but he was also the soulmate and lover of an unredeemable despot. Could the previous Mabel even have forgiven something like that? It was hard to imagine.

It was best to leave it be. She was satisfied with her life, and was content to let the world sort itself out. _Qué será será_ , after all.

Or so those were her thoughts for five years. And then, everything changed.

 

Mabel stood next to a rundown cabin, distastefully eyeing rusty letters proclaiming it to be the Mystery Shack.

She had been sent on a false assignment. There was no forty two year old weapons expert Edmund Rosewell here—just an old man in his eighties, grumbling and waving his walking stick in the air while throwing popcorn at the television.

She’d had her suspicions when she was reading the mission brief. Something about it had seemed…off. But then who had sent her here? And why? Was she going to get ambushed?

Just as she turned to walk away, she heard a voice call out, “Mabel!”

Mabel froze. She unholstered her gun in a fraction of a second and aimed it towards the direction of the voice. A woman she didn’t recognize, a redhead, was walking towards her, hands up in a gesture that indicated she meant no harm.

“Whoa there, tiger. Just wanted to talk,” she said.

“You’re the one who sent me here. Why?” Mabel pressed, eyes narrowed.

“To meet your family, of course.” She smiled in a benign, innocent manner that invited trust. Mabel knew it was a façade, but she couldn’t help relaxing a fraction.

“My family is dead.” She had a sudden flashback to five years ago, when she’d repeated the same thing to a stranger who’d claimed otherwise.

“Not all of your family is dead, Mabel. I know you have no reason to trust me, but just hear me out. Walk inside and if you really don’t believe it, what could it hurt? Talk to your great uncle Stan. He practically raised you.”

“Who are you and why do you care?” Mabel asked testily.

“My name’s Wendy, and I’ve been looking for you for years. The Alliance of Shadows is an impressively tough organization to penetrate. I was a good friend of your brother Dipper. He deserves better. You deserve better, Mabel, so come on. Just give it a shot. The world needs Dipper and Mabel Pines back.”

Mabel’s instinctual reaction was to walk away from all of this without a second look, but then she thought back to the sleeping boy who would remain asleep for an eternity, perhaps unfairly, if she didn’t do anything.

Her sense of guilt was finally winning out now that the truth was potentially right in front of her. “Fine,” she said shortly. Wendy smiled reassuringly in response.

Mabel experienced an overwhelming sense of anxiety as she stared at the entrance. Part of her still wanted to leave and forget about this, but she had already forgotten so much. If she consciously chose to forget inconvenient truths every time she was confronted with something frightening, she would end up no more than an empty shell of a person.

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and hesitantly walked through the door, every cell in her body vibrating with trepidation.

There was no sudden rush of memories, no sense of familiarity, but as she looked around she felt a sense of warmth here. A sense of comfort.

She found the elderly white-haired man from before sitting in the living room. He was still yelling angrily at the television. Mabel cleared her throat.

“Hold on, home intruder!” He shouted without looking up from his show. “I’ll deal with you when I finish this rerun of Duck-tective.”

“Um, it’s me, Mabel…” She said unsurely.

“Well, _Mabel_ , I’m not done watch—” He froze suddenly and slowly looked away from the screen. He stared up at her, speechless.

“Mabel?” He said in shock, before composing himself.

“Where’ve ya been, disappearing for so long? Don’t think you’re special for running away from home. Been there, done that. You start up a business and get rich? Come back to rub it in your Grunkle’s face?” He spoke gruffly but his eyes were shining with unshed tears, belying his blasé words.

For a moment she wanted to be the Mabel with the caring family—the Mabel whose great uncle Stan was the epitome of the cranky old grandparent she imagined having when she dreamt up a family for herself. For a moment, it was nice to pretend.

“Top of the fortune five hundred,” Mabel joked, grinning.

“Good, you’re just in time. I need a new hip replacement,” he replied. And it was so easy, despite all the words unsaid and all the words Mabel didn’t remember enough to say.

“C’mere kiddo,” he said inviting her in for a hug, and Mabel complied, feeling warm and settled despite the fact that she was ultimately still hugging a stranger.

“Don’t think I haven’t been looking for you,” Grunkle Stan spoke into her ear, voice rough with emotion. “I never stopped looking.”

Mabel nodded with a small smile. “Thank you,” she said, unexpectedly touched. “Can I just…take a look around? See some of my old things?” She asked tentatively.

“Your bedroom’s still the way it was when you left. So’s Dipper’s,” he said, and Mabel understood the implication that he’d kept everything in place with the expectation—no, the hope—that they’d find their way back.

Mabel wasn’t completely convinced yet that this was all real, but she dared to dream.

As she was wandering upstairs, she came across a room in the attic that apparently belonged to her years ago. One of the walls was littered with Polaroids of her and her brother doing ridiculous things. In one of them, Mabel was trying to wrestle a small pink pig into a sweater and failing miserably while her twin was on the floor in tears from laughing too hard. In another they were putting on a sock puppet show, Mabel looking overly enthusiastic while Dipper looked like he was doing it at gunpoint.

Next to the photos were a bunch of paintings of unicorns galloping in various iterations of idyllic fields. Mabel could tell this was not the work of a teenager embracing the respectable institution of irony, but the work of a teenager utterly dedicated and sincere in her intentions. She liked this Mabel. She wondered who this Mabel would’ve grown up to be if she hadn’t had all her memories wiped without warning.

Nothing in the room was dusty, as if Stan had meticulously kept the place clean all these years, carefully preserving it in all its chaotic glory.

Confronted with all the evidence in front of her, Mabel couldn’t deny the truth any longer. From years of experience in illicit dealings she knew what false documents and fabricated evidence looked like, and this was not it. She sunk down to the floor and pored over the pictures for hours, trying to absorb every little detail.

It was then that she made up her mind.

“I want answers, and if I have to tear down the Alliance to get them I will,” she told Wendy as she walked outside after saying goodbye to Grunkle Stan and firmly promising him she’d be back again, next time with her twin in tow.

“Glad to hear it,” Wendy said, grinning. “Did I mention I’m a leading expert in getting answers and tearing down things?”

“Excellent,” Mabel said. “Because we’re going to find the leader of the Alliance.”

 

* * *

 

Even with Mabel’s inside knowledge of the Alliance and Wendy’s extensive resources and skill, it was frustratingly difficult to narrow down the identity of the mysterious leader. Their first avenue of investigation was the tiny, subtle soulmark inscribed on Mabel’s back just below her neck. In the end that search ended up leading nowhere, which was fairly unsurprising. Many magical races held names sacred, believing there was a power to names and therefore keeping them secret. The name revealed by her mark was the sort of name that looked distinctive and archaic enough to belong to such a race. Whoever Mabel’s soulmate was, her true name had probably been spoken once at birth before it was surrendered to silence, lost to everyone but its owner and maybe a chosen few.

The other viable strategy was attempting to track communications between the elders and the head of the organization, which was tedious because one of the strong points about Alliance security was that all their critical communications were written, leaving no digital trace. Encrypted messages sent from the elders were manually passed from messenger to messenger quickly and efficiently within a vast network shaped like a branching tree; information traveled from the trunk all the way up to the tiny little branches, and somewhere at the end of one of those branches was a single person who could actually decode the message. It was almost impossible to tell who the end recipient was, since there were thousands of end recipients existing to create false leads. However, almost impossible wasn’t the same thing as impossible, and all it took to get to the bottom of the mystery was a series of well-placed agents infiltrating the network at strategic points, a rather ingenious algorithm for analyzing data, and a little time.

In a month they had it all figured it out.

“No fucking way.” Wendy whistled as they both stared at the laptop screen in shock. Mabel was having trouble believing it. It was all a bit surreal.

“Pacifica Northwest, like _the_ Pacifica Northwest? The brainless, narcissistic socialite?” Mabel said wide-eyed.

“Can you imagine anyone else pretentious enough to call themselves that?”

“That’s a fair point,” Mabel conceded.

Wendy grinned in amusement. “Who would’ve thought that Pacifica Give-Me-Designer-or-Give-Me-Death Northwest wasn’t afraid to get her perfectly manicured hands dirty with some good old-fashioned murder?”

“Okay, I’ll admit I really did not see this one coming,” Mabel confessed. The thing was, Pacifica seemed so unabashedly superficial and empty-headed that it was difficult to imagine her taking time away from drinking coconuts in Bora Bora—or whatever the rich and famous did—to plot the downfall of some world leaders.

Pacifica had risen to fame decades ago, idolized for her seemingly limitless wealth, immortal beauty, and extravagant parties. Fame for Pacifica was a double-edged sword; more recently she was notorious for featuring in shallow reality television shows, and the public both loved her shows and hated that they loved them. She was ridiculed endlessly in the media for the idiotic comments that seemed to always fall from her mouth, but she was the one everybody wished they could be nonetheless.  In one particularly memorable interview quote, Pacifica mistook the word campaign for champagne and social media exploded with mockery of her ignorance.

Her current reality TV show, _Million Dollar Tryst_ , featured Pacifica taking improbably beautiful people on ridiculously extravagant dates. Mabel admitted to binge-watching several episodes of the series during a reality TV phase she went through. In one of the episodes, Pacifica borrowed an infamous, three hundred million dollar necklace from the national museum and granted her date the chance to wear it for a night as they dined on a private beach. In another episode she impulsively bought a vintage fighter plane and gifted it to her date—some actor who collected aircrafts—at the end of their evening. They were all ostentatious displays of wealth that left the nation equal parts disgusted and awed.

Mabel found it difficult to reconcile the two vastly different personas of Pacifica Northwest. How could someone so successful at living in the limelight also be so skilled at thriving in the shadows?

“She has paparazzi following her around twenty-four seven and has eyes on her constantly. How on earth did everyone miss the fact that she leads an entire army of assassins?” Mabel said incredulously.

“It’s the image she cultivates,” Wendy explained. “Since everyone believes she’s materialistic and dim, they’re cognitively biased against any evidence to the contrary. It’s totally clever. I use a similar cover myself, but this is some next level deception.”

“All right,” Mabel said slowly, growing reluctantly accustomed to the idea. “Then how do you suggest we approach her?”

Wendy returned to the keyboard and quickly tapped out some code before swiveling back around to face Mabel. “She’s hosting a party at her villa this weekend. There’ll be a few hundred in attendance—enough that she won’t be suspicious if she doesn’t recognize you. I can send you a blueprint of the building.

“Perfect,” Mabel grinned. “I haven’t crashed a party since I shot a mob boss at the Playboy Mansion.”

“Hopefully this party’s less exciting,” Wendy laughed.

 

* * *

 

Mabel arrived at the Northwest mansion feeling self-conscious and phony in a mint-green chiffon dress fashioned by one of the leading designers of the season. The night was dark and chilly, and Mabel shivered slightly. There were some guests lingering in the garden area to have private conversations, but most were concentrated in the outdoor pool area or in the large dining room flourished with an open bar, where Pacifica was.

The house was extravagant yet also strikingly modern in its minimalism—not at all the kind of home that Mabel would have envisioned for the leader of an ancient order. It was a stark contrast to the fortress housing the Court of Shadows, which was old-fashioned in its generous abundance of arches and pillars.

She spotted Pacifica laughing and gossiping on the couch with a group of movie stars Mabel vaguely recognized, looking carefree and delighted like there was nowhere else she’d rather be. Her movements as she brought the champagne flute to her dark pink lips were fluid and sensuous, an effortless embodiment of the sensuality that society so readily prized. Now that Mabel was aware of Pacifica’s hidden nature, she could see that hers was a beauty naturally gifted but also self-forged, calculated for use as a sharp weapon.

For a while Mabel blended in with the mingling crowd nearby and just watched, waiting for an opening. "I'm going to get myself another cocktail," Mabel heard Pacifica say, and there—that was her chance.

Mabel followed her to the bar, ordering an Amaretto Sour to cope with this surreal scenario before turning to Pacifica to initiate the long-awaited conversation.

"Pacifica Northwest! I love your show," Mabel smiled pleasantly.

"It's always great to meet a fan," Pacifica replied, returning the smile insincerely as if she thought the exact opposite.

"It must be hard, though," Mabel continued. "How does it feel to constantly be in the limelight? How do you deal with eyes on you twenty four-seven, not being able to keep any secrets from the world?" She asked, deliberately disingenuous.

Pacifica hummed, gathering all her long blonde hair to one side and twisting it together before tossing it behind her back. She looked utterly unfazed by the question. "Oh please. All I have to do is basically like, look perfect all the time and everyone will love me. I don't need privacy, I just need the world to treasure me for the gift that I am." And with that line, Pacifica pasted on her camera smile and turned to go, but Mabel grabbed her by the arm.

"Do you think the world would also treasure your grand-scale manipulation of it?" Mabel asked, lowering her voice.

Pacifica didn't react to the comment, blinking in confusion so guilelessly that for a moment almost Mabel believed they'd been wrong and she wasn't the one they were looking for.

"I don't speak to haters," Pacifica sniffed, wrenching her arm away and moving to signal to her body guards nearby.

"If you don't want me to cause a scene and ruin everything you've worked for, you should probably smile for your adoring fans and then come talk with me in private," Mabel said testily, miffed by the casual dismissal.

Pacifica stared at her for a long moment. Her expression remained vacant and innocuous, but Mabel knew that the gears were turning rapidly in her sharp mind. Then all of a sudden Pacifica smiled—an amused, inhuman smile that looked almost cruel by nature, not by intent. A smile characteristic of the fae, Mabel realized.

"You think it's that easy to bring down an order hundreds of times older than you? You're just a child," Pacifica said coolly.

"Would you want to take that risk when you could just as easily avoid it?" Mabel returned.

Pacifica glanced back at the group of guests she’d left before shrugging. "Fine. We can go upstairs. I doubt this will take very long,” she said dismissively as if Mabel's threats were inconsequential. It made Mabel want to strangle her with her own expensive-looking diamond necklace.

They easily slipped away from the crowded party, Pacifica leading them to what seemed like her own bedroom. It was a very lavishly furnished room, and Mabel wondered if Pacifica genuinely appreciated excess opulence or if it was another part of her fabricated persona. As soon as the door clicked shut behind them Mabel shoved Pacifica against the door, holding a set of double daggers up to the other’s throat.

Pacifica stared down at the sharp blade against her smooth, pale neck for a long, silent moment. And then she started laughing hysterically. With every laugh, her throat brushed against the sharp edge of the knife but it didn't seem like she noticed at all.

"No one's tried this in centuries," Pacifica said in amusement. And then in one smooth maneuver she deftly kicked out at Mabel's legs to kick her off-balance while twisting her arms behind her back. Pacifica was fast—much too fast to counteract—and Mabel found herself pinned face down on the cold marble floor with Pacifica a heavy weight on top of her. The daggers clanged to the floor beside them.

“So…” Pacifica lowered her head to speak threateningly into Mabel’s ear. "Why don't you tell me…how did you figure out who I am? Who do you work for?" She asked, her breath uncomfortably warm against the sensitive skin of Mabel’s neck. This close, Pacifica smelled overwhelmingly of woodland—of earth and trees and sun and wind. Of faerie.

"You," Mabel snapped angrily. "I work for you."

"Oh I see. It’s one of those.” Pacifica sighed. " _Bor_ ing. Let me guess, you stopped agreeing with the Alliance's principles? You killed one too many people and decided to grow a conscience? Fell in love with a target? Changed your mind when we killed a friend? A family member? Your dog?" Pacifica mocked.

"The Alliance wiped my memories, led me to believe I had no surviving family, manipulated me into joining a flawed cause, and then sent me in to kill my own brother! Don't patronize my experiences."

"You're wrong. We don't wipe memories. Joining the Alliance of Shadows is a _privilege,_ an honor.” Pacifica said snidely.  “We don't need coercion to build our ranks."

She’d suspected as much, but it was becoming evident that Pacifica really hadn’t been part of any machinations involving Mabel. That meant Elder Frierson might’ve been telling the truth about some things at least. He'd been very frank about the fact that Mabel was considered a threat to the Alliance because of her relationship to Pacifica—that he wanted Mabel to prove her loyalty to the cause before allowing them to meet. Just because he’d been transparent about those motives, however, did not mean that he was in the right. He’d kidnapped her, isolated her from those she cared about, and wiped her memories, making her scared and lonely and desperate enough to be instinctively to drawn anyone offering her shelter and direction. Now, after having gained some distance from the Alliance, she was able to clearly see that she'd been manipulated and wronged.

"If you feel so strongly about it, maybe you should’ve made that abundantly clear to your Council," Mabel said angrily. "Because I was dragged from my home and forced into a life I didn't want, all because the Council believed I would be a threat to the Alliance otherwise."

Pacifica laughed again, that condescending laugh of disbelief that Mabel was really starting to resent. "Now you're being delusional. You, a threat to the Alliance? How could _you_ ever be a threat to us? Why not just kill you then?"

"Because of the mark that I was unfortunate enough to be born with!" Mabel raised her voice in frustration.

"If you were fated to be with someone so important that it threatened the integrity of the Alliance, wouldn't I have known of you by now?"

Mabel huffed. "Just...just look at it," she said tiredly. "On the back of my neck."

She felt a warm hand impatiently brush aside her long brown hair to expose her neck. A pause, and then the body on top of hers stilled.

"No," Pacifica breathed softly. The hand gripping Mabel's arms tightened painfully before loosening completely. Light fingertips moved to trace the letters of their own name curiously, hesitantly. “I can’t believe this is happening now of all times.”

“Right? Just as your reality dating show is in full swing.”

Pacifica ignored the quip. “Tell me your name,” she said, voice tense with something like fear, or shock, or amazement. Yet, even without the confirmation, Mabel could tell that Pacifica also felt the unmistakable connection between them—soft and tentative and subtle, with the untapped capacity to burn deep and fierce.

Mabel briefly felt an immature impulse to withhold information to spite her. “It’s Mabel. Mabel…Pines,” she replied. Mabel was still getting used to the idea of having a last name, a family.

Pacifica was quiet. Sounds of laughter from outside occasionally permeated the silence. Now that the danger of having her throat slit by a proficient assassin had passed, Mabel’s thoughts involuntarily narrowed in on the heat of the body above hers, on the synchronized rise and fall of their chests punctuated by the staccato beating of two hearts.

“Sometimes I think I’ve lived too long to experience wonder anymore, but then something like this…” She trailed off. “It’s amazing that your name has been on my skin for so long before you existed, before even the rise of a civilization that spoke your language.” It was a bit jarring to hear something so eloquent fall from Pacifica’s lips, said in her usual airy, rich girl accent.

Pacifica spoke again. "You have no reason to believe me, but I hope that you can trust me when I say I really just want what's best for this world, and I will find justice for what you've been unfairly put through."

Mabel narrowed her eyes. “We can start tomorrow. With saving my brother.”

And she told Pacifica everything.

 

* * *

 

Pacifica's fury was a sight to behold. She didn't yell and shout, but still managed to be absolutely terrifying.

They met on the rooftop of one of the citadel’s towers. The meagre light of dusk cast everything in shadows, and the post-rain air was damp and brisk. Pacifica stood in front of her five council members, all of whom bowed their heads in deference.  Violent winds whipped her long blonde hair around her silhouette and she bore dark aura so strong it felt almost tangible, making her look wild and poisonous.

“Which of you orchestrated this plot directly involving me without seeking my permission?” She asked dangerously. Mabel wondered what kind of power Pacifica had that drove five formidable assassins to flinch and avoid eye contact.

After a moment, Elder Frierson stepped forward. He was the only one.

“I did it with your interests in mind. The interests of the Alliance. Mabel Pines was an unknown factor who had the power to destabilize the entire fabric of the Alliance. I only wished to ensure that she had placed her whole faith in our organization before I presented her to you. It would have been a _gift_ —a soulmate shaped to have the same agendas as yours. One who would be deeply supportive of the Alliance by your side. I had hoped that you would appreciate it for the great favor that it is, and see that everything I’ve done is in your name. I had hoped you would honor me for it.”

“Ah.” Pacifica said, eyes narrowing with clarity. “I see what this is about now. This isn’t about me or my connection to Mabel. This isn’t even about the stability of the Alliance. This is about your own bid for power. You want to be named my successor, so that the other elders can’t vote you out of the Council in the centennial assembly, as you know they’ve been planning to do for over half a century.”

“I served the Alliance of Shadows faithfully for so long,” he said through gritted teeth. “I don’t deserve to be cast aside.”

“You know, I defended you when the other Elders warned me of your amoral viciousness and tendency to take matters into your own hands. I did it because I valued your faithfulness. Now I see what they mean. You ruined any chance at redemption when you overstepped your boundaries in my personal affairs.”

“I only did what I thought was right! I did what I had to do to protect us.”

“What you thought was right,” Pacifica repeated. “That’s not really how hierarchies work, you see. You withheld vital information from me, and then went on to assume that my soulmate might influence me in ways that lead to the downfall of an ancient order. Do you understand how utterly condescending that is?” She spat viciously.

Beginning to realize that Pacifica wasn’t going to take his side on this matter, the Elder swallowed and shrank in on himself.

“I won’t even begin to list all the grievances the rest of the elders have against you, but I believe the Council will breathe a sigh of relief when I sentence you to an eternity of sleep in the Hall of Amnesty, in the place of Dipper Pines.”

Pacifica turned to look at her Council. “Any objections?” She said with a raised eyebrow.

Absolute silence. Then an incredulous snort from one of the elders who apparently couldn’t contain themselves.

“Perfect!” Pacifica said. “That’s that.” She clapped her hands together. “Now there’s just the simple matter of restoring Mabel’s memories. And then we can pay a visit to the infamous twin brother.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovely [art](http://theannieparadigm.tumblr.com/image/137757056798) for this fic by the perfect and amazingly talented [theannieparadigm](http://theannieparadigm.tumblr.com)!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to any mathematicians or physicists in the room for taking liberties with your field. Although from what I understand, anything is plausible as long as you throw a Hamiltonian at it. ;)

_(Dipper 20, Bill 19, Mabel 20)_

 

When Dipper first regained consciousness he felt a sensation akin to being squeezed by a giant octopus. Having just woken up, he was in still in a stage of disorientation and confusion, and wondered dazedly if someone was trying to kill him or if he was actually being done in by an angry cephalopod. Then he blinked his eyes open and found himself looking into a set of bright hazel eyes that mirrored his own.

“Mabel?” He said groggily, brows furrowed as he struggled to comprehend why he had an armful of crying sibling attempting to squeeze him to death.

“Dipper, you idiot!” She said as she relinquished her hold on him. Then she pinched him hard in the side.

“Ow!” Dipper exclaimed, startled into wakefulness.

“I can’t believe you talked shit about my sweaters,” she said indignantly.

Dipper blinked again a few times before it all came rushing back to him—the encounter with the oracle, finding Mabel in the court of shadows, Mabel saving him from a death sentence, being placed in a state of dreamless sleep…his mind was reeling from all of it.

“You remember everything?” He asked, wide-eyed from the recognition on his twin’s face.

“No thanks to your suicidal heroics,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“But how did you…“ He trailed off as he took in his surroundings. Based on the strong earthy smell and the complete lack of windows, he guessed he was in a small chamber deep underground. It was dimly lit with antiquated-looking chandeliers, and an old conference table sat in the center of the room. There were a pair of figures standing behind Mabel. To his surprise, Wendy was one of them, and she stood alongside a very familiar looking woman he couldn’t place.

“How did you get back your memories? How did you get me out?”

“I had some help,” Mabel said sheepishly, gesturing to the two others in the room.

“Hey, Dip.” Wendy waved cheerfully. “It’s been a while. Five years, to be exact.”

If Dipper had been standing, he probably would’ve had to take a seat following that declaration. “I missed _five_ years?” He asked incredulously, hoping he’d misheard. So much could have changed in five years. He could hardly believe it. He hoped they weren’t sitting in some post-apocalyptic bunker following world destruction at the hands of the emperor.

Then the other woman, the one he didn’t know, walked over and extended a hand. “Pacifica Northwest,” she introduced.

Dipper stared at her for a while, uncomprehending. Then all of a sudden it clicked, and he choked on nothing. “ _Pacifica Northwest?_ ” He emphasized skeptically. He knew she looked familiar, but he hadn’t recognized the infamous celebrity in the understated black clothes she was wearing instead of her regular heels and miniskirt.

“No offense intended, but this doesn’t exactly seem like your kind of party.”

Pacifica made a point of looking around the room in wide-eyed surprise. “But I was promised, like, pole dancers and cocaine.”

“Stop it, you,” Mabel admonished lightly before turning back to Dipper. “Pacifica leads the Alliance of Shadows,” she explained, much too casually in Dipper’s opinion. “Wendy and I have told her about you. She knows you can be trusted.”

“All right,” Dipper drew out the words slowly as he tried and failed to reconcile this information. “I’m not following. Why is she helping us?”

Mabel sighed. “It’s a long story,” she began. And then she launched into a lengthy explanation that brought him up-to-date with everything that had happened while he was unconscious, including her visit to the mystery shack with Wendy and her revelation that Dipper was telling the truth. She finished with an account of her confrontation with Pacifica and their discovery of Elder Frierson’s unwelcome plotting.

Dipper took all the stories in with fascination, grateful for the twists of fate that enabled his sister to regain her sense of self. “So you two are really…” He gestured between Pacifica and his twin, letting the implication hang in the air.

“Soulmates.” Mabel finished for him.

The sound of the word out spoken out loud sent a jolt through Dipper, and it was like a floodgate had opened and he was suddenly confronted with all the thoughts he’d been suppressing since he’d found out about _it_ —about what Bill truly meant to him, what he meant to Bill _._

 _Soulmates_. It was such a strange little word. Once he repeated it in his head enough times it ceased to sound like a word at all.

From his sitting position he fell backwards until his spine hit the cold, dusty floor and he began laughing hysterically—loud, raucous laughs that resonated within the small chamber and produced a mocking echo.

“I think he’s lost it,” Pacifica commented.

Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. “Us Pine twins have all the luck, don’t we,” he lamented. “Whoever’s responsible for matching souls deserves to be fired without severance pay.”

At this, Mabel and Pacifica exchanged a look he couldn’t interpret. A subtle expression on his twin’s face exposed the fact that she wasn’t quite lamenting with him. She looked almost…at peace with her match, at peace with the idea of being tied to someone constantly standing on the precipice of morality, one millisecond away from tipping over the edge from right to wrong. Someone with so much power and influence that it naturally made their soulmate an unwitting pawn in a messy game of world politics that could cast their lives into chaos at any moment. Mabel had already experienced the fallout of being used as a pawn by the Alliance. How could she accept Pacifica so readily?

And for that matter how was Dipper supposed to accept Bill? _Bill_ , not Phoenix, and wasn’t that a crazy concept? Dipper knew for certain that he would rather take a dive off a cliff than sincerely accept Phoenix as a soulmate, but Bill…Bill was a different story—a chaotic, confusing, convoluted mess of a story, and Dipper didn’t know what to think or feel.

“I’m sorry, Dipper,” Mabel said. “Though now that you’ve left the palace, you won’t have to deal with Phoenix again, even if he is your soulmate.”

Dipper buried his face in his hands and laughed. “While we’re still in this momentum of bombshell dropping, I should probably take this moment to disclose one little fact: Phoenix isn’t my soulmate.”

Mabel’s brows furrowed contemplatively. “But that doesn’t make sense. You have the mark. You’ve had it for as long as I remember.”

“No, you’re right about the mark. It’s always said Cipher, but there are, in fact, two Ciphers. At the time it seemed reasonable to assume the first one, but I’ve discovered that that’s not true.” Silence greeted his declaration.

“If I was holding something I could drop dramatically, I would,” Wendy offered. She looked surprised, but Dipper could see the piece of information assimilating quickly into her brain, working to reshape existing strategies, ideas, notions, and predictions. It was this quick thinking that made her so good at what she did.

“How did you figure this out? Does Bill know? Does the emperor?” Mabel asked, concerned.

And then it was Dipper’s turn to fill them in on important events. He pushed himself off the ground, dusted his backside, and plopped down on one of the chairs at the table to get comfortable before beginning his story. He started by telling them about his meeting with the oracle who’d revealed the truth about his and Bill’s past lives, taking care to avoid specifying which oracle he’d seen since he remembered that the Alliance had some sort of contention with her. He explained how the First Emperor’s mistakes had once led to his downfall, and warned them of the cycle of destruction he’d initiated—a cycle responsible for various historical occurrences of mass violence and had to be stopped before it eventually threatened civilization itself.

By the time he finished, a feeling of unease had settled over the room. “Given the timing of Bill’s rebirth, I would imagine that Phoenix’s plans play a pivotal role in this foretold devastation. This just reinforces the idea that the emperor must be stopped at all costs,” Pacifica said. Dipper raised a surprised brow at her eloquence. He shouldn’t be surprised given what he now knew about Pacifica, but he was nonetheless.

“How are we supposed to do that if we don’t even know what we’re trying to stop?” Dipper said, frustrated.

“You mean you haven’t guessed?” Pacifica said, voice tinged with condescension.

They all looked at her with surprise. “And you know? How?” Dipper said incredulously.

Pacifica raised an eyebrow at his tone. “The fae, as you are probably aware, are at war with the emperor Cipher over a prophecy. What the public doesn’t know is that we didn’t start a war over some vague forecast of gloom and doom. It’s actually quite specific regarding what the emperor may accomplish if unchecked. Only the highest ranking members of the faerie courts know the prophecy in its entirely, and they unanimously agreed to keep elements of it a secret because they feared that bringing the whole prophecy to light and letting Phoenix know of its contents would cause it to be self-fulfilling.”

“You’re belong to one of the fae courts?” Mabel asked, frowning slightly. “The Alliance is supposed to be completely divorced from other organizations to maintain impartiality.”

Pacifica shook her head. “Many, many moons ago, when I was someone I barely remember, I ruled over one of the courts of fae. I hated the politics, the pettiness, the cruelty—everything. One day I disappeared, but I didn’t burn all my bridges. I still have some useful connections among the fae.”

“Gods, you’re like a gobstopper,” Dipper muttered under his breath.

“The point is, I know what Phoenix is up to. It’s fairly simple-minded actually. As you mentioned, the First Emperor opened a portal to the one of the Other Realms many millennia ago: the Nightmare realm. Phoenix is trying to follow in his ancestor’s footsteps. He must be using a different method to access the realm, because back then limited technology made it nearly impossible to access so many points around the worl—”

Dipper suddenly cursed loudly, interrupting her. A maelstrom of equations and formulas and geometric patterns swirled through his mind as it all began to add up. Of course. Dimension hopping made so much sense. “I’m an idiot,” he said, the rush of discovery edging him towards exhilaration and hysteria. “Such an _idiot_. The best way to open an inter-realm portal requires higher dimensional ritual magic, which is why I couldn’t make sense of the pattern!”

“Woah, whoa, slow down there,” Wendy said. “A little more context would be cool.”

“Okay, look here.” Dipper rushed over to kneel on the floor and traced a circle on the ground with his index finger. Where his fingers brushed against the stone small black crystals burst out of the ground. Within the circle he drew a variety of geometric shapes, their vertices all touching the outline of the ring. “Your standard summoning circle.”

“All right, no need to go that basic, Dipper,” Mabel said rolling her eyes.

“With this method, you would have to use a substantial quantity of energy to summon a single being from another realm each time, which is inefficient and useless if you’re trying to build a limitless army of nightmare creatures.” He waved a hand over the summoning circle and the crystals receded back into the floor as if they were never there.

“Now, an alternate way to save energy would be to create a permanent path between the two realms so that traveling back and forth requires minimal energy; all you need to do is invest some initial energy to create this path. How does one easily create a short path between two three-dimensional realms? By opening up a path in the fourth dimension.”

“Huh,” he heard someone say thoughtfully.

“To do magic in a higher dimension, you have to increase the dimensionality of your magic circle by one as well, which means you have to use a sphere. Phoenix is using the shape of the earth as the sphere, and the regions he’s drained of life mark the vertices of the geometric shapes within the sphere. By draining the areas, he also gains the energy needed to fuel the spell. Magic of higher dimensionality requires advanced geometric calculations and the regions he’s chosen are a result of those calculations, but I’m not mathematically gifted enough to figure out the pattern.”

“I refuse to believe the emperor is some sort of mathematical genius, either. He must have someone doing all the work for him.” Wendy said, looking contemplative. “I…I think I may have some idea who it is. This may be just a hunch, but it’s one I’m fairly confident in. Phoenix has a special prisoner he keeps under heavy security—one that even his secret intelligence isn’t supposed to know about. This prisoner must be important if they took such pains to conceal them.”

“Any thoughts on finding this supposed prisoner?” Dipper asked.

“From what my intelligence has gathered, only one person other than the emperor has any regular contact with the captive—the server who brings the prisoner food.”

“That sounds like our chance,” Dipper replied.

Wendy hummed pensively and then grinned. “Doesn’t it just. Say, Dipper, how do you feel about a little undercover work?”

 

* * *

 

Being back in the palace was impossibly stifling in an almost claustrophobic way, especially after his brief period of freedom. It didn’t help that Dipper felt like he’d just escaped not very long ago when in reality he’d actually slept through five years of time. The memory of living in a gilded cage was still fresh in his mind, and it took incredible willpower to avoid walking out and never looking back.

As he dipped dark red strawberries in chocolate fondant, he looked down at the unfamiliar hands that belonged to him now, unsettled every time he glimpsed them. They weren’t particularly odd looking hands, being neither grotesque nor flawless, but each finger was maybe a fraction of a centimeter longer than he was used to, and the lines in his palms were noticeably deeper than before.

Fae glamour, or fae illusion magic, was very potent even when cast by common fae. When cast by someone as strong as Pacifica, it was nearly flawless and impossible to detect, which was why they used it to disguise Dipper as a member of the kitchen staff. Straight, dark brown hair framed a small face with a pointed chin, and the dullest green eyes stared back at him whenever he looked in the mirror. He wasn’t unattractive, just intentionally plain-looking and unremarkable, which made it easier for him to go unnoticed.

The plan itself was fairly straightforward; Dipper would work in the palace for a few months simply delivering food and occasionally preparing simple desserts, establishing his cover and credibility. Then when the time was right, Wendy would temporarily incapacitate the staff member currently delivering the prisoner’s food, making it look like an accident. That would leave a vacant job opening, and since one of the divisions of Secret Intelligence was responsible for performing intensive background checks and hiring new staff, Wendy could easily push Dipper into the position given her rank in the organization.

For now, Dipper was still working on establishing his cover, having only worked in the palace for a month so far. He was adjusting fine, having made some friends among the staff while also maintaining a bit of a distance because he didn’t want to trust the wrong person and make a mistake that would jeopardize the entire operation.

He finished preparing the extravagant dessert platter and topped off the strawberries with some gold leaves before bringing it upstairs to the garden, where a group of diplomats were having afternoon tea at a table near the fountain. The spring air was fresh and crisp, the garden just beginning to recover some of its splendor after a harsh winter. No one bothered to thank him as he laid the dish down, but Dipper was long accustomed to his invisibility. Afterwards, he headed back down to the breakroom for his own late lunch, already worn out despite the day being far from over.

When he got there he found three of his co-workers gathered around the coffee machine, chattering in low tones.

“I can’t believe she’s not going to divorce him.”

“Divorce who now?” Dipper asked as he walked in.

“Oh, hey Dave,” Eliza greeted him cheerfully by his fake name. “Come join our shameless gossip session.”

The staff loved to gossip about the nobles and politicians they served, given that their simultaneous proximity and invisibility to palace residents granted them access to many dirty little secrets. After working here for a month, he’d already learned more about various individuals than he did from living here for over a decade. Sometimes Dipper wondered idly if they’d ever gossiped about him when he was residing in the palace as the emperor’s soulmate and what they said about him then.

“Lady Amelia suspected her husband Lord Henry was cheating on her with her sister, so she secretly followed him one night. And that was how she found out he was actually cheating on her with his _own_ sister.” Eliza delivered this news delightedly, with a wicked little smirk that spoke of enjoyment derived from other people’s mistakes.

“Illicit sexual relationships. What a novelty in this place,” Dipper said, rolling his eyes and turning to microwave his cold sandwich.

“Speaking of things that are not news, guess which Cipher I saw walking out of the new visiting prince’s bedroom,” Eliza continued.

“Uh, either?” Someone, probably Michelle, said.

“Junior,” Eliza said, popping a cigarette in her mouth and lighting it despite smoking being against the rules. “He needs to stop treating the castle like his own personal hunting ground.”

“Still making rounds, I see. I wouldn’t mind if he takes a tour of this side of the palace.” Michelle winked, and the co-worker he didn’t recognize giggled.

Dipper felt his face heat up. He really didn’t want to think about that. Gossip about Bill always made him uncomfortable. He wanted to know what kind of person Bill had grown up to be, but he didn’t want to find out like this—in this impersonal, detached, often judgmental way. The way they talked about Bill made it sound like he’d seduced and slept his way through about half the palace. It was strange to imagine; the Bill he’d known was viciously single-minded about obtaining power, revenge, and influence, not someone who chased after empty pleasures. It was difficult to conceive of Bill, in all his narcissism, having the patience to feign interest in multiple people long enough to charm them into bed. Then again, a lot could have changed in five years.

Dipper always imagined Bill thought himself above petty courtship games and base carnality, but maybe the wants and desires of a fourteen year old were different from those of a nineteen year old. Although…he’d always suspected Bill kept some uglier facets of himself hidden from Dipper’s judgement to avoid dealing with his disapproval; it was possible this had been one of those facets. Dipper wondered if Bill was becoming more and more like the father he detested, or perhaps like the despicable person he’d been in his past life. He felt an uneasiness wash over him at the thought.

“That thought that might cross your mind when you see him from a safe distance, but from what I hear he can actually be quite…disconcerting. Unstable. Charismatic one moment and terrifying the next,” Eliza said, exhaling smoke.

“Oh, cut him some slack. He lost both his mother and his soulmate before even turning fifteen, and I can’t imagine the emperor winning any parenting awards, either. If he’s not a little fucked up I’d call it a miracle,” the girl he didn’t know commented.

Dipper looked down at his sandwich and aggressively tore a piece of lettuce in half.

Eliza snorted and opened her mouth to respond before looking at the clock and cursing. “All work and no play,” she drawled, putting out her cigarette on the side of the coffee machine. The others trailed after her sluggishly, and Dipper was left to eat his lunch in peaceful silence.

At the end of the long day, when he was curled up in bed in the wing of the palace that used to be the servants’ quarters, he found himself staring at the ceiling and reflecting on Bill—on their connection, and on abstract notions like fate and predestination. His mind wandered in this direction fairly often. Working a fairly mundane job gave him the chance to think about things he couldn’t find the time to process before, when he’d been fighting for his and his sister’s wellbeing.

An underlying feeling of relief that Phoenix wasn’t his soulmate always accompanied his musings; their connection had never once felt the way soulmate connection was supposed to feel, but at the time he’d always imagined it was because the emperor didn’t even have enough of a soul for himself, let alone enough to share with his other half. Dipper sometimes found himself obsessively wondering if having Bill as a soulmate would be better, or if it would end up being just as unbearable and stifling.

Some part of him wanted to march up to Bill and simply tell him the truth so that he wouldn’t be alone in dealing with this revelation, but a larger part of him was…well, afraid. It wanted to remain in its own corner of denial, where uncertainty about the murky future was vastly preferred over the possibility of encountering a grim reality. He wasn’t certain he trusted Bill enough to let him know yet, especially given his knowledge of Bill’s past life and the kind of person he was capable of being. Five years was a long time—long enough to introduce an unpredictability that made Dipper uncertain about whether he could still say that he knew Bill, that he understood him. That wariness was also part of why he didn’t want to let Bill know he was back here in the palace. That and he didn’t want to confront everything head on yet. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t know when he would be.

A warm moonlit glow lulled him to sleep, the calm at odds with the tumultuousness of his thoughts as he drifted off, swirling visions of various possibilities playing out idly in his mind.

 

And then he was dreaming.

 

In this dream he felt cool hands sweep aside his hair, fingertips lightly tracing the constellation on his forehead from one star to another, the touch as delicate as the mild sigh of a gentle breeze. Soft lips nipped against his jaw, a mouth normally curved into a sharp, wicked smile smoothed by a rare fondness and affection. The lips chased a slow, languid path down his neck before stopping at its destination—and then, abruptly, the touch was gone.

Something in the air shifted. Darkened. He cried out, unprepared for the sudden, painful sensation of sharp claws raking across his collarbone, viciously clawing and tearing and slicing at fragile skin as if trying to permanently erase the soulmark etched there. An anger that was not his flooded the air until he could breathe nothing else, feel nothing else, and then he was gasping, drowning, suffocating...

He awoke to the glittering morning sun chasing away the terror and erratic hammering of his heart, and Dipper somehow understood that he’d seen a dream that didn’t belong to him—that he’d seen a dream he wasn’t meant to see at all.

 

* * *

 

Three months later, the person responsible for delivering food to the prisoner suffered a convenient accident at the hands of Wendy, and subsequently had to take a few months to recover. The night after that Dipper received a letter slipped under his door. He tore open the letter with shaky hands and found exactly what he’d been expecting—a job promotion offer. The note was signed by the emperor himself, who was requesting a meeting with him to discuss the details. It was scheduled for two days from now.

Any other employee would have probably leapt to their feet in excitement by now. To receive royal attention and a personal invitation to meet with the emperor? It was more than one could dream of. Instead, Dipper’s heart drummed with anxiety at the prospect of the meeting. Would Phoenix try to test his loyalty? Make him prove himself somehow? How would they ascertain whether or not he could be trusted?

He stopped in the center of his room when he noticed that he’d been unconsciously pacing. The danger of this mission all of a sudden felt very real; it occurred to him that he could very well die here. If they somehow determined he was a spy, he could be executed for treason without a trial, likely even tortured for information. If he revealed himself to be Dipper Pines, he would be equally as screwed, if not more. The moment he escaped from the palace five years ago was the moment he’d outlived his use in the emperor’s eyes. Phoenix had used every propaganda machine at his disposal to brand Dipper a traitor to the state as soon as he became more of a liability than an advantage to the emperor’s political power. The current police and military order given in regards to Dipper was “shoot to kill.”

The anxiety stayed with him for the two days leading up to the time of the meeting. Yet, the moment he stepped into the familiar, opulently decorated study and glimpsed the emperor’s expression of smug superiority for the first time in five years, that anxiety melted right off to be replaced by a calm sort of fury.

“Please, take a seat.”

Dipper glanced around, but there were no other chairs in the room. Phoenix continued to stare at him expectantly, until slowly, Dipper lowered himself to the ground, taking a seat on the cold marble floor, unsure if that was the right move.

The emperor burst out into delighted laughter. “Perfect! We should get along just fine,” he said, looking down at Dipper from behind his desk. “Now, from what your coworkers and references have said, you seem to be…“ He peered at the sheet on his table. “Friendly, but quiet. A very hard-worker, but a little reserved. Bland. Boring, maybe. Does that sound right?”

Dipper simply nodded, refusing to take offense. He decided the best way to get through his conversation was to say as little as possible.

“Those are the characteristics I need for this job. I require someone who can complete a simple task for me each night, in confidence. You wouldn’t happen to be the kind of individual who would violate their employer’s trust, would you?”

Dipper shook his head.

“Marvelous. Because I’m not so sure your sweet-natured, perpetually sick mother living all alone in a tiny apartment at”—he looked back down at Dipper’s file—“Two seventy-six Union Street would be very successful at fending off any unwanted visitors with ill intentions,” he said, not bothering to veil his threat.

Dipper opened his mouth to give reassurance, but suddenly paused when he felt a presence lurking in the periphery of his consciousness. It was a feeling very similar to when Bill invaded his mind, but much less potent, and that was when he realized that Phoenix was trying to read his thoughts. Dipper was surprised; he had no idea the emperor possessed the capacity to access the mind as well. Dipper could tell his ability was nowhere near as strong as Bill’s, though, since he only felt a slight prodding at the surface of his thoughts, as if Phoenix was trying to get a general feel of his emotions.

Fortunately, Dipper had learned some things over the years while attempting to guard his mind from Bill. He pushed the emotions he wanted to hide deeper towards his subconscious, and worked to project the feeling of nervous complacency.

He saw the corner of the emperor’s mouth turn down into a little frown and fought very hard not to panic, since panic would definitely betray him. Was Phoenix suspicious what he saw? Fear slowly crept back to the surface of Dipper’s thoughts despite his best efforts, and then—suddenly, the emperor relaxed, and retreated out of his mind.

Dipper then realized that the demon had been _searching_ for that fear—that he’d been expecting it. Phoenix likely felt safe and reassured as long as he was confident that he’d inflicted fear on the other party.

“Meet me here each night at eleven o’ clock sharp, beginning tomorrow. We’ll go from there,” Phoenix dismissed.

Dipper nodded and left the room with zero hesitation. It took almost all his coordination to avoid stumbling outside in relief.

 

* * *

 

If there was one thing Dipper hated the most, it was being thrown for a loop while already anticipating a dangerous situation he couldn’t control.

He spent all of the next day mentally preparing for the possibilities he would encounter that night, but what he was not prepared for was the head of the serving staff telling him to deliver the prince’s dinner, a mere hour before Dipper’s engagement with the prisoner.

Dipper tensed. “That’s usually Eliza’s task,” he said, sinking feeling in his stomach. He wasn’t ready to see Bill yet, especially not now. The mission tonight required his absolute focus, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted or emotionally volatile.

“Do you see Eliza around here at the moment?” His supervisor snarled. “She’s on sick leave, and it’s not as if I’m asking the impossible of you. Get it done,” he ordered, before turning around to scold another server for taking too long a break.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to be calm. It was going to be okay. He was no longer Dipper Pines. He was just an ordinary server—invisible—and would be in and out of Bill’s room in a second. Easy. Inconsequential.

But it wasn’t even a convincing lie. He would still _see_ Bill, and despite everything, Dipper missed him like nothing else. Inevitably, this was going to hurt.

He picked up the platter off the table, counting the small grapes on the dish— _one, two, three, four_ —as he walked up the stairs, past the garden, and through the halls, trying not to think about anything else at all. The path to Bill’s room wasn’t particularly familiar to him, and he almost got lost a few times. Back then Bill usually snuck into Dipper’s room, not the other way around.

When he arrived at his destination he knocked on the door tentatively, almost too softly for it to be noticeable. There was no reply. Inhaling deeply, he knocked again harder this time and braced himself. Still, there was no response from within. Relieved, but also disappointed in a way he hadn’t anticipated, Dipper turned to go when suddenly he heard a muffled cry coming from within. Concern growing, he rapped his knuckles on the door once again, more frantically this time. Yet again no one answered, but the sound of something inside abruptly crashing to the ground startled him into action. His magic freaked out, causing the lock to release, and the door swung open.

When it did, Dipper almost dropped the tray in shock.

The reason for the crash was now glaringly obvious. Whatever he’d been expecting to see, it wasn’t this.

Bill was not the only person in the room. There was someone else—a noble, likely, judging by the unbuttoned fancy silk shirt sliding off his shoulders. There was a small lamp on the floor, which the stranger must have knocked off the nightstand whilst scrambling for purchase against the headboard of the bed. And Bill—Bill was biting at the juncture between his neck and shoulder, one arm wrapped around his waist, holding him in place as he ground against the other man’s bare ass.

At the sound of the door opening the noble turned, caught sight of Dipper at the entrance, and suddenly froze, eyes widening. He immediately scrambled away from Bill, nearly falling off the bed in the process. “My father can’t know about this,” he said, a wild look in his eyes as he haphazardly buttoned his shirt back up and threw on pants as fast as he could. Then he fled, pushing past Dipper and avoiding eye contact on his way out, leaving him in the room with Bill—alone.

Despite his bedpartner’s hasty and dramatic exit, Bill remained composed, unruffled. He made no move to preserve his modesty as he shifted backwards to lean against the headboard, movements smooth and languid. Dipper averted his gaze to the floor, but the image remained burned into his eyes—an expanse of warm golden skin and hard, lean muscle, a figure devastatingly impossible in the way reminiscent of a meticulously sculpted statue. He had undoubtedly changed a lot in the time Dipper was gone. Before, Bill barely reached the tip of his ear, and now the reverse was probably true.

Dipper wished he would put on some clothes.

He looked back up to see that Bill staring at him with lazy irritation, an unimpressed look on his face. Dipper could feel himself flushing in horror and mortification at the entire situation.

“I- I brought your dinner,” Dipper mumbled as he left the tray on a coffee table near the door, a safe distance away from Bill. He quickly moved to flee, but Bill stopped him.

“No.” Bill spoke firmly, voice hard as steel. “No, that won’t do. Bring it here,” he ordered.

For a moment Dipper remained fixed in place, apprehensive about the tone in Bill’s voice. He was tempted to ignore the demand and slip away, but eventually decided that might bring more trouble in the long run. He lifted the tray and cautiously walked over to the nightstand, setting it down as quietly as he could manage.

Bill stared at him impassively, and then in a single move swiped the entirely of the tray off the table. Everything came crashing to the floor. Grapes rolled across the room in all directions like a deep purple sunburst; balsamic steak sauce went everywhere, decorating the floor in dark brown splashes.

“Who the fuck said you could just walk in?” He asked contemptuously, and Dipper flinched at the look on his face. He’d never been on the receiving end of such disdain from Bill before, and while admittedly he'd found himself truly scared of Bill once or twice, he’d known that Bill would never actually do anything to harm him. Now, Dipper was just some nobody who got to weather the crown prince's wrath, and he could no longer take that certainty for granted.

“Know your place,” Bill added coldly.

Dipper swallowed. “I’m sorry. I heard a crash,” Dipper said, willing this whole interaction to just be over with. This was not how he imagined a reunion with Bill to go.

“You heard a crash,” Bill said skeptically. “And you decided that was adequate reason to waltz right in without a care? There are protocols in place for a reason.”

“I’m sorry,” Dipper repeated, eyes fixed on a lone grape on the floor.

Bill surveyed him silently for a long moment, and Dipper refrained from shrinking under the toxicity of that gaze. “Make sure this doesn’t happen again,” he finally said, leaning back and closing his eyes. “In the meantime, you can spend all night on your hands and knees licking that mess off the floor, or, alternatively, you can come over here and finish what you so rudely interrupted,” he said, mouth curving up in a challenging slant.

Dipper was completely taken aback. Besides the fact that Bill sounded completely unconcerned in his cruelty, he’d gone too far with his words. They were clearly deployed to humiliate, but while Dipper had always known Bill was capable of being ruthless and spiteful, he hadn’t fully realized the extent of his capacity for malice. He wondered if this a new development from the past five years or if was Bill always this much of an asshole to those he didn’t care for.

Dipper had never taken kindly to Bill’s temper, and those words pushed him over the edge. A seething anger bubbled up in his chest as he failed to stop the furious retort that escaped from his mouth.

"I'll send someone in with a mop,” Dipper said between clenched teeth as he stormed out, slamming the door shut behind him.


	9. Chapter 9

Back in the safe haven of the basement corridors, Dipper’s anger slowly dissipated into the cool night air, leaving him feeling deeply panicked yet wholly unrepentant. He didn’t regret a single word he’d said to Bill, but was nonetheless wary of the repercussions of losing his temper. The likelihood of Bill sitting there quietly and letting this insult lie was about as high as the emperor stepping down from the throne to pursue a love of dance.

Dipper had been right to assume that his emotions would be volatile after a meeting with Bill, but nothing could have prepared him for the ugly twist of events that occurred. Still, the consequences were something to deal with later, when he had more time to think and plan. For now, he had to collect himself in order to focus on the task at hand—obtaining intel from the mysterious prisoner.

After briefly venturing out onto one of the second level balconies for some fresh air to clear his head, Dipper headed back inside towards the direction of the royal study. This time when he got there, one of the guards at the door stopped him with a firm hand on the shoulder before he even had a chance to knock.

“The emperor has another pressing engagement to attend to and is unable to meet with you at this time. However, he did instruct me to leave this for you.” The guard held out a small, ornately decorated jewelry box, which Dipper warily accepted with both hands. He opened the box and lifted out a small, silver medallion imprinted with an image of the royal crest. “You are to bring it back by midnight, or the emperor would like to assure you there will be severe consequences.”

Before he had a chance to wonder why on earth Phoenix had left him a piece of antique jewelry, his mind suddenly whited out, thoughts rendered blissfully blank for a few moments that felt almost like an eternity. When he regained his mental equilibrium, he realized that touching the medallion had given him knowledge of the exact location of the prisoner, as well as imparted on him a compulsion to bring a platter of food to the specified destination. It was a neat piece of magic, which Dipper found himself reluctantly impressed by.

Dipper tried to thank the guard before leaving and found that he’d somehow lost the ability to speak, as if his vocal chords had been frozen in place. He opened his mouth to try once more, expelling air from his lungs again and again, but still no sound came out. An instinctive fear rushed through him and he flung the pendant away from himself in shock. However, as soon as he let go of the medallion he felt the muscles the muscles of his larynx relax, his panic abating in tandem. It seemed there was a spell woven into the jewelry piece that prevented him from speaking, which was probably there to ensure that he wasn’t able to talk to the prisoner. Thankfully that meant he would be able regain his speech once he finished his task and returned the pendant.

Rubbing his face in exasperation, Dipper returned to the kitchen to prepare a platter for the emperor’s mysterious captive, making sure to also include some non-perishable foods that would last through tomorrow’s lunch since it seemed the prisoner only had food delivered to him once a day. Afterwards, he walked in the direction he instinctively knew he was meant to go and ended up in the throne room, standing in front of the large stone chair that never failed to send shivers down his spine.

The grotesque statues holding up the throne looked even more sinister than he remembered, as if their expressions were becoming increasingly desperate each passing day. Dipper very slowly and very reluctantly walked up to the statue closest to him. Reaching out with trembling hands, he pressed a thumb into each of the statue’s impossibly realistic stone eyeballs as if gouging them out, feeling sick to his stomach. The eyes, once pressed inwards, unlocked some sort of mechanism that caused the platform of the throne to slowly rotate, revealing a set of spiral stairs that Dipper knew would go on and on and on until he was left wondering if he was climbing into the mouth of hell itself.

He took a deep breath and stepped through the opening in the floor, jumping slightly as the entrance closed off above him. The path was dimly lit with scattered torches that bore flames of sea green color, a hue which managed to feel both soothing yet foreboding. He hurried down the stairs, keeping in mind the time limit he was working with. Unlike normal fire, the flames along these walls barely danced as wind brushed past them—a telling sign that they were magical flames charmed to last much longer than their non-magical counterparts.

When Dipper finally reached the bottom of the stairs, a journey which he estimated took a little more than ten minutes, he had to stop to catch his breath. He was decidedly not looking forward to the trek back up. In front of him was a long corridor, and at the very end of it was an ordinary brick wall. The average person who found their way down here might wander through the corridor, find no doors or passages, and make their way back to the throne room in disappointment. Dipper, however, with the knowledge he was temporarily granted, knew to walk up to fourth, fifth, and eighth torches and rotate them so that they were upside down. When he turned the last torch, the brick wall at the end of the corridor transformed into a translucent, white film, allowing Dipper to tentatively step through.

The room he walked into was, to his surprise, fairly roomy and well-furnished, with elegant furniture and bookshelves lining every inch of the walls. If he hadn’t just walked through a shady set of stairs and a dark tunnel to get here, he might’ve thought it was an ordinary residence, although Dipper himself knew better than anyone that simply living in the lap of luxury didn’t mean one couldn’t be an unwilling prisoner.

There was a large, messy desk to the side of the room. The table held papers haphazardly strewn everywhere, and mountains of notebooks were gathering dust on the ground near it as well. At the desk sat an old man scribbling furiously, grey hair speckled with white. He looked up at the arrival of his new guest, and Dipper froze at the sight of his face.

It was Grunkle Stan—but not. They had the same features, the same facial structure, even the same expression of stubborn defiance, but this man looked almost gaunt whereas Stan maintained a healthy weight and nursed a beer belly.

“A new face,” Not-Stan remarked, peering at him curiously. “I don’t suppose you’ll speak to me either? The other one before you didn’t.” He spoke in a manner far more erudite than Grunkle Stan, and maybe a little more pretentious, but Dipper couldn’t fault him for that. He was a genius, after all. Dipper was excited to meet a person capable of such advanced mathematics and magic—if this was indeed the right person at all.

Dipper couldn’t speak to him, but maybe there was a way around that. He walked over to the elderly man’s desk and picked up a pen that was lying nearby. He then grabbed an empty piece of paper and set the pen down, intending to write, “What’s your name?” As soon as the pen touched the white sheet, however, his hand froze, just as his vocal cords had earlier. Dipper exhaled in frustration and brought his hands up to try one last thing, sign language, but that, too, was unsuccessful. It seemed the spell on the pendant effectively blocked all attempts at communication.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Dipper noticed he only had about twenty minutes left, which meant he couldn’t dally any longer. He took one last glance at the man who looked eerily like his great uncle, willing him to understand without words that Dipper had come to help. He then stepped out of the room, determined to reconvene with Wendy and the others and figure out a way to talk to and rescue the mysterious captive.

He barely made it back to the emperor’s study on time, having only two minutes to spare. He would need to travel faster next time if he wanted enough time for a meaningful interaction with the prisoner. As soon as he removed the pendant off his neck and placed it back in the box, every trace of knowledge he had about the prisoner’s whereabouts emptied from his mind immediately, leaving behind a feeling of emptiness where that information once dwelled, like the echo of a lost memory. It was disorienting but fleeting sensation.

He handed the box back to the guard in front of the door, who simply nodded in approval. Dipper bade him goodnight, and slipped away to find Wendy to let her know what he discovered.

 

“What do you mean he looked like Stan?” Dipper could hear the perplexion in Wendy’s voice though she was facing away from him, clicking through some documents on her computer as she multi-tasked managing some foreign affair and listening to Dipper’s story.

“He looked like Stan, as in, they could have been twins. Or clones, I guess.”

Wendy paused what she was doing for a moment. “Let me pull up the Pines family files.”

“It was so strange. He was like Stan if Stan had gone to college and didn’t have a boycott against books with long words.”

Wendy opened up a set of databases and began typing away at her keyboard. Several minutes later she made a small noise of triumph. “All right. I did some deep, deep, I mean _deep,_ digging and found exactly one mention of a Stanford Pines, twin brother of Stanley Pine, in some high school newspaper article on their annual science fair. Apparently Stanford Pines won the award for best presentation that year. There’s nothing else on him though. It’s almost as if someone had tried to erase all traces of his existence.”

“Could it be the work of the emperor? To keep people from being able to identify his prisoner?”

“It’s possible,” Wendy shrugged.

“If Stan has a twin brother, I can’t believe he’s never mentioned it.” Dipper tugged at his hair in frustration. “Would you mind confronting Stan about this? We need more than just speculation at this point.”

“Sure. In the meantime, if you can continue figuring out a way to nullify the communication blocking spell on the medallion to speak to our captive that would be great.”

“As long as I can spend some more time with the pendant, I’m confident I’ll eventually be able to find a way around the spell. I just have to keep up the charade for a little longer.” Which, in retrospect, might be a tad difficult if Bill decided to cause trouble for him, but that was his problem to deal with. Wendy had enough on her plate as it was.

“Thanks Dip. I’ll let you know when I’ve spoken to Stan.”

Dipper gave her a thumbs up and left through the window he came in.

 

* * *

 

Dipper’s plan for dealing with the Bill problem was admittedly not a very good one.

Bill was too vengeful to respond well to long, sincere apologies so that option was out, which suited Dipper just fine. He wasn’t feeling particularly apologetic anyway. If he still knew Bill at all, the best way of reaching him was to take advantage of his partiality for making deals and strike some sort of bargain with him. Dipper had no idea what terms to lay on the table, so he decided he would just wing it when the moment arrived.

The anticipated confrontation came in the morning as he was in the kitchen drizzling honey over figs topped with ricotta cheese, his attention entirely focused on trying to squeeze the honey out of a bottle that was stubbornly refusing to relinquish its contents.

Then all of a sudden everyone around him in the room seemed to still, save for a few cooks who would probably prioritize finishing their dishes even if it began raining fire and brimstone. The temperature in the room dropped—literally or figuratively Dipper wasn’t quite sure.

Bill stalked into the kitchen with the sort of calmness that hid something more sinister, reminiscent of a feline predator prowling the grasslands after an oblivious victim, body tense with coiled aggression. He leaned against the counter and levitated a blueberry from a nearby fruit salad high in the air before letting it fall, catching it in his mouth gracefully. Even that innocuous act felt somehow threatening, as if his every gesture was imbued with murderous intent. His grin was a tad too wide, like he was trying overly hard to look cheerful and instead edged into maniacal territory. That smile fooled no one, and a palpable terror permeated the room.

This wasn’t their crown prince here for a friendly visit; this was a Cipher looking to spill blood.

Michelle, who stood next to Dipper rubbing at a small wrinkle on her dress shirt in the absentminded manner of the incredibly anxious, murmured, “When I said the prince should tour this side of the palace I didn’t mean for _murder_.”

Bill took in the scene with evident amusement. “Hello folks!” He said with a small wave and a flash of teeth. “Don’t mind me. I’m looking for a—Dave, was it?”

Everyone all too relieved and happy to give Dipper up, angling their bodies towards his direction and waiting to watch the drama unfold.

Dipper’s supervisor suddenly came rushing into the room. “Your highness! Did he do something to offend you? You needn’t have come address the issue yourself. We’ll have him disciplined immediately,” he pandered, his obsequiousness stemming from fear that Dipper’s actions would reflect poorly on his management abilities.

Bill was slow to reply, deliberately drawing out the moment to prolong everyone’s anxiety and trepidation. “Nah, I’ll take care of this myself.” He stared straight into Dipper’s eyes, causing him to cringe. Then he jabbed a finger in Dipper’s face. “You! Let’s go for a walk.” The way he said it made Dipper fear this would be the last walk he ever went on.

He took one last forlorn look at his unfinished fig dish and sighed, following the demon out amidst hushed whispers and curious gazes.

 

* * *

 

Bill teleported them to an abandoned garden on the outskirts of the palace, one that had been fenced off for decades and decades. Though the garden had once been a beautifully maintained, serene sanctuary full of vivid blooms and quiet shade, neglect had turned the area into something wild and untamed. Weeds, dark moss, and ivy reclaimed eroding stone walls and statues while thick, twisted vines grew out of an old decorative well like large serpents peeking out of their dark dwelling. In a way there was something peaceful about the chaotic, uninhibited nature of this old garden; maybe it was the way it served as a reassuring illusion that life was infinite and endlessly persistent.

Dipper had good memories of sitting back to back with Bill on the damp morning grass quietly reading from a mountain of books, but in this situation the scenery seemed to take on a distinctly morbid ambience. It occurred to Dipper that this would be the perfect place to hide a body—not that Bill would need to hide his dead corpse, since no one would dare speak out against their prince even if some commoner died by his hands. The Ciphers weren’t just above the law; they used it as a footstool.

“I’m not sorry,” were the first words that stupidly tumbled out of Dipper’s mouth. He hadn't meant to let that escape, but apparently his bitterness affected his judgment more than he'd realized.

A split second later, Dipper found himself violently shoved against the rough trunk of a tree. Jagged edges of bark scraped away at delicate skin and dug painfully into his back. He was held up by the throat, sharp claws puncturing shallowly into his neck and threatening to pierce through to the jugular and carotid. The demon’s golden eyes were now a scorching red, burning with an anger way too disproportionate to the minor offense committed. The twisted expression on Bill’s face encompassed a range of complex emotions, which somehow that clued Dipper in on the fact that this was about more than he’d originally thought.

“Not sorry for what?” Bill snarled. “Not sorry for waltzing into my room and ruining what was a perfectly nice evening with your attitude? Or—oh! I know! Not sorry for conspiring with the emperor, am I right, _Pine Tree_.”

Dipper’s eyes widened. “What?” He tried to say, but it came out strangled and incomprehensible due to the grip around his throat.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t realize it was you? Sure, it didn’t hit me until you marched out following your frankly melodramatic one liner—no one’s ever been as impudent to me as you, Pine Tree—but I can recognize your mannerisms, you speech patterns…the way you walk, talk, breathe. I know you better than anyone else on this dull little planet.”

The lack of oxygen brought spots to Dipper’s vision and he started frantically grabbing at the arm holding him up, trying and failing to pry it away.

“Oh, will you relax, Pine Tree. I’m not going to kill you.” He cocked his head to the side. “Maybe a little maiming to instill obedience.” Dipper was almost certain that was a joke, but with Bill it was hard to tell.

Finally, after Dipper was almost certain he would pass out, Bill eased his grip. Dipper greedily sucked in a lungful of air before descending into heavy coughs. “No,” he struggled to say, voice coming out weak and hoarse. “I’m not—” He interrupted himself with another fit of coughing.

“Save it. I followed you last night. I saw you go up to Phoenix’s study and retrieve an item before disappearing somewhere. You’re in the palace in some shitty disguise, you didn’t tell me you were back despite having been here for months, and on top of that you’re doing secret tasks for the emperor? Good luck convincing me we’re still on the same side.”

The allegations were so ludicrous that Dipper was stunned speechless, unsure of where to begin debunking all that insanity. Bill, however, seemed to take that silence as an admission of guilt and continued on through clenched teeth. “I wonder…what persuaded you to turn on me like this? Did he promise you power? Wealth? Safety? Or—” Bill leaned in close to spit the last sentence into his ear with distaste. “Has he always been just that spectacular a _fuck_?”

The hand around his neck shifted to the mark on his collarbone, sharp nails resting there threateningly like that dream where Bill tore it apart—and that dream…it should’ve been a warning sign of the demon’s crazed, all-encompassing possessiveness, but he hadn’t wanted to dwell too much on the implications of Bill’s imagination. Dreams tended to fade from the mind as the day went on, and Dipper had been all too willing to let that one go.

“You’re being an unreasonable prick,” Dipper said heatedly, disgusted by Bill’s insinuations.

“Am I?” Bill’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I promised you _more_ , Pine Tree. I promised you a place in my kingdom, the world at your feet—I would’ve had them all _worship_ you,” he hissed, his breath a warm graze against Dipper’s lips. Eyes of molten gold were a mere inch away, and something in Dipper’s blood simmered, answering the intensity of that gaze. The world was closing in, and he felt more trapped now than when he’d been gasping for breath, sharp claws against his jugular.

“Calm down, Bill. Think. Do you really think the emperor would be so civil towards you if I’d told him you were plotting against him? First, let go of me and act like the enlightened, highly-evolved adult being that you are and then we can talk.”

Bill fixed him with an unreadable stare, hesitating for a moment before slowly letting go. Dipper staggered over to the well in the middle of the garden and learned against the moss covered bricks. When Bill moved to follow, Dipper stopped him.

“No, you stay there.” He pointed to the spot Bill was standing, and Bill crossed his arms but obeyed.

Dipper took a deep breath and decided bluntness was the only way to go. “I know exactly what Phoenix is planning, and I know how he’s going to achieve it. He wants to build a near-infinite army using creatures from the nightmare realm, like the First Emperor did millennia ago.”

Bill arched an eyebrow but let him continue.

“The emperor keeps a prisoner that’s undoubtedly helping him accomplish his goals, and I’m in the palace to get information from the prisoner and hopefully extricate him if possible. That’s why I have this disguise. That’s it. I’m not working with the emperor, Bill. I swear.”

“Then why haven’t you told me all this earlier? Why didn’t you let me know you were here?” Bill asked, eyes narrowed.

Dipper inhaled sharply. “That’s…personal.”

Bill looked at him suspiciously, as if he could tell the other was hiding something. Dipper felt a presence nudge against the walls of his mind and gods, he was sick of people doing that. He didn’t want Bill in his head. There were things he didn’t want Bill knowing yet—things that he deserved to keep to himself just a little bit longer.

“Don’t,” he told Bill firmly. “Don’t do it, or I’m done here. I need you to trust in _me_ , not trust in your powers to forcibly get what you want. If you can’t, this is it.” He held Bill’s gaze steadily to convey the gravity of his threat. “You don’t get a second chance.”

He saw the inner conflict play out in the blonde’s head. Bill wasn’t someone quick to trust. His family experiences, as well as the constant backstabbing, lies, and betrayal that accompanied court life made sure of that. And yet, Dipper hoped that Bill wasn’t actually mistrustful enough to risk losing him; all that earlier paranoia had stemmed from irrational anger and jealousy, which Bill must have realized if he had any sort of capacity for self-awareness.

After what felt like an eternity at an impasse, Bill backed down with a little shrug of feigned indifference, and the knot in Dipper’s stomach eased.

Given Bill’s gesture of faith, Dipper wished he could trust him in turn with the important details and updates, omitting any mention of their bond, of course, but he still had reservations. He needed to know that their goals still aligned—that this Bill was, at the core, still the same determined and rebellious boy he’d left behind five years ago.

“I want to explain everything. I want to tell you the whole story leading up to this point and I want you to be a part of everything going forward…” He paused, swallowed. “But how do I know I can depend on you when you’re twice as vicious as I remember and all I’ve heard are stories of your self-indulgence and how you’ve decided to sleep your way through the palace?” He tried to sound reasonable in his apprehensiveness, but the last part came off slightly more bitter than he’d intended.

Bill made to walk over, and this time Dipper didn’t do anything to stop him. He halted one step away where Dipper was sitting leaning against the wall with his knees to his chest and knelt down so that they were eye-level.

Then he did something completely unexpected. He cupped Dipper’s face gently with both hands, one thumb brushing against soft lips that parted slightly in surprise, taking advantage of the opening to slip his thumb inside. It was a gesture that served to drop all pretenses that there was nothing carnal brewing between them.

“Pine tree, are you _jealous_?” Bill breathed in wonder, his expression one of wicked delight and endless smugness.

Dipper shifted his gaze to a random point on Bill’s shoulder, but the demon lifted his chin so that their eyes met again.

“Oh, Pine Tree. You’ll always be my forever girl,” Bill teased in a sing-song voice. Dipper hated the mocking tone, but he couldn’t help the tiny, tiny part of him that was settled by the reassurance. “Do you think I whisper promises of the world to anyone and everyone that graces my bed? If only you knew how much I think about you, everything I want to do to you…you’d run so far I wouldn’t be able to find you for another five years.” A sharp grin crossed his lips. “But when I did find you again…” His eyes glazed over as if the dark little fantasy was playing out in his mind, sending chills racing down Dipper’s spine.

“No, Pine Tree, my indulgences are my indulgences, but I’ve been setting the stage for something far, far grander.” A self-satisfied expression adorned his face. “They say war is hell, but if that’s true then I’ll be fighting in warm, comfortable territory.”

Dipper’s eyes widened and he shoved Bill away. “You can’t!” Not this. Not large-scale warfare. Once Bill set down that path, it would be an endless progression of ambition and destruction feeding off one another, and Dipper knew how that ended—the same way it ended millennia ago. Bill was supposed to be fixing his mistakes, not repeating them.

“Oops, too late. Been doing some collecting. I’ve got allies in and out of the palace—whole races on my side, even. Not to mention the number of the emperor’s council members I snatched out from right under his nose. Some of these supporters…I’ve incited them to crave blood, and they won’t be happy until the walls are decorated with it.”

“Listen to me, Bill, it’s not just a matter of principles. I know how this goes, and there’s no happy ending for anyone involved. We’ll find another way,” Dipper begged.

“What are you so afraid of, Pine Tree? You don’t think I’ll turn out like daddy dearest, do you? Because I won’t. I’ll never turn out like him. I’ll be smarter, saner, _better_ ; I’ll succeed in all the ways he never could.

No, Dipper wasn’t just afraid of him turning into Phoenix. He was even more afraid of him reaching his full potential for destruction, turning into the past version of himself, and that was exactly where Bill was headed now. After Bill’s civil war—what then? Another war? Two? Three? The heady rush of power has warped countless men in the past, twisting them into hungry beasts that craved more and more and nothing else. War and ambition was what drove the First Emperor to his downfall.

And that was when Dipper realized there was no other way. He needed Bill to see. And for that, he was going to have to come clean about everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to theannieparadigm for another amazing piece of art of [ young Bill ](http://theannieparadigm.tumblr.com/image/139438213258), as well as Roku for her absolutely adorable drawing of [Bill!](http://rokutsubasa.tumblr.com/image/142112624273)
> 
> Also, Nanibgal has an extremely well-written non-canon spinoff of this fic (a fanfic of a fanfic, if you will) [ here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6297181), and it’s wonderful!


	10. Chapter 10

When it came down to it, Bill Cipher was a simple creature.

There were only two things in the universe he ultimately wanted, and he didn't care for the shape or form in which he got those things; he just cared that he got them. The way he saw it, a steak grilled with oak wood chips and garnished with fresh thyme, cilantro sprigs, and garlic cloves was fundamentally still just a grilled steak. A murdered corpse pinned artfully to a wall with its heart torn out and its intestines tied into a pretty bow like a gruesome museum exhibit was, in essence, still just a dead body.

The first thing Bill Cipher wanted was total victory over the emperor. The details of the triumph didn't matter so much. Whether Phoenix faced immediate execution, was locked away forever in a dark cell, or remained alive and free to grovel at Bill's feet each day was irrelevant. The empire could be in a state of complete disarray by the time he was done, with half the population starving and every other building in the kingdom burnt to ash, and he wouldn't care as long as he emerged the winner. That was probably a kinder fate than what the empire would eventually be reduced to in Phoenix’s hands, anyway. Bill was probably born without a conscience, and if he'd ever acquired one it was in the shape of the stubborn human standing in front him. His own inability to experience guilt meant he didn’t mind the idea of waging a bloody war that tore apart cities. In fact, the idea of absolute chaos brought a spark of warmth to his cold little heart.

The second thing he wanted was no secret from the thing itself. This, too, was a thing he was content to have in any form: willing or unwilling, happy or sad, standing freely by his side or locked up in an impenetrable tower. He could spend the entirety of his life plotting ways to help Bill or plotting his own escape. It didn't matter. It didn't even matter that destiny had decreed Dipper Pines was not meant to be his. At the age of nine Bill had decided that Dipper would be his loyal servant; at the age of ten he'd decided that Dipper would be his closest friend; at the age of fifteen, after a year of missing his companion so deeply that it clawed at his insides and hollowed him out, he’d decided that Dipper would be his everything—that he wanted to own him, breathe him, live inside him for as long as the universe allowed.

That had also been the year everything changed.

There was one fact about Bill Cipher that everyone almost always forgot. They looked at him and saw the son of the emperor, but what they failed to remember was that he was the product of his mother as well.

On the eve of his fifteenth birthday, Bill had woken up in the middle of the night gasping. Electric blue flames licked across his entire body—a physical burn that echoed the fierce craving in the pit of his stomach like there was a voracious beast living inside him waiting to be fed. He was supposed to be a master of the mind, but his own mind was betraying him; his thoughts had become an uncontrollable mess of want, of desire, of the need to claim and possess. He gritted his teeth at the injustice of it all. His mother had been too weak to survive, and all she’d left him was a lifetime’s worth of emotional baggage as well as this unwanted byproduct of her succubus lineage—the need to feed off sexual energy.

Not long after, he’d learned to become an expert at feeding his monster. He knew exactly what to do to make his partners writhe in ecstasy, moaning and whispering his name reverently as he devoured the energy derived from their lust and pleasure. Bill Cipher never did anything by half measures. And yet, somehow it was never enough to leave him completely satisfied. The need would always temporarily abate, but there was still a void inside him that refused to disappear, each time leaving him with a feeling of phantom hunger that continued to grow.

He’d become accustomed to the hollow sensation, even managing to turn the burden of his lineage into a political advantage. He’d buried the agony, because a Cipher would never allow something so trivial to become a weakness.

But now…now Bill knew better. Earlier when he made contact with Dipper’s warm, flushed skin for the first time in years, he felt a burning sensation run through him; this time it was a good, soothing burn, as if he was melting into a hot spring and sinking deeper and deeper into that infinite warmth. The perpetual emptiness vanished for a blissful moment, until he was finally forced to release his hold on the other man.

It was infuriating that everything always came back to Pine Tree, infuriating that he needed Pine Tree so desperately when the human didn’t seem to need Bill even half as much.

Knowing that Dipper had fae glamour in place, Bill was able to force his mind to see past the disguise, and the sudden familiarity of the face staring back at him made him ache with want. He felt an overwhelming need to reach out and touch, but at that moment Dipper looked like he had something to share—something that was apparently terrifying enough to make him look like a hunted woodland creature on the precipice of bolting, so Bill decided not to push his luck.

“There’s something I need to tell you. Maybe you’ll be angry I didn’t tell you earlier, but I needed the time to think about it. Even now, I…” Dipper glanced away defensively.

“Come on, Pine Tree. Out with it.” Bill rolled his eyes. “No need for the dramatic preface.” The nervous expression fell away, replaced by a skeptical look that seemed to point out the hypocrisy of Bill complaining about dramatics.

Dipper began, “When I was looking for Mabel I sought help from a skilled diviner, the infamous nameless one who was known to be involved in countless important historic events.”

“Hold on,” Bill interrupted. “Are you talking about who you think I’m talking about? Are you telling me you asked a legendary oracle to act as your magical GPS?” He let out a loud hoot of laughter. Only Dipper would do something so brazen without realizing it.

A light flush appeared on Dipper’s cheeks, as if he hadn’t considered the frivolity of his request. “Well when you phrase it that way it just sounds stupid. Anyway, the oracle didn’t mind, but I suspect the reason she complied with my request was because she needed to talk to me about something else entirely and to issue a warning of sorts.”

“Let me guess. Gloom and doom, impending disaster, the world will end in twenty twelve…” Bill rolled his eyes. Oracles were a bunch of joyless downers with absolutely zero chill.

The brunette made a small noise of frustration. “I wouldn’t sound so flippant about it, considering she’s convinced that _you_ are the one who will end it.”

Bill raised an eyebrow. “Me? Not the emperor? Well, that’s new and refreshing!”

Dipper shook his head and sighed. “Why am I not surprised by your reaction? Somehow, telling you that you're the reincarnation of an infamous, mass murdering psychopath is the easy part."

"Ooh, I can believe that. Who is it? Anyone cool?" Bill drawled.

"You're not taking this seriously," Dipper glared.

"And you're not telling me anything life changing."

"Didn't you ever wonder why you were so abnormally powerful? Power has been slowly diluting down in the generations before you, causing emperors to overcompensate by ruling more tyrannically. But you’re an exception. I've seen the things you can do. You're stronger than everyone preceding you, and you never once questioned it?”

“Why question a good thing?” Bill shrugged.

“Because the person you’re reincarnated from was not a good man, Bill! And I have serious doubts about whether you’re any better.”

“Oh come on, Pine Tree. Being associated with awful people is not new to me. The emperor is not a good man. Nor was his father. Nor was his father’s father. Nor was anyone who’s ever played golf with any of them.”

“Well, this guy basically pioneered ‘not good’ and trademarked it! This is someone that even conservative, propaganda-driven history books have trouble painting in a good light. The First Emperor, Bill, you’re the reincarnation of The First Emperor. Not to be _dramatic_ again, but this is the man who only knew brutality, who ushered in the darkest era of fear the world has ever known, and sacrificed hundreds of thousands of lives to satisfy his need for power.”

“He just did what every other ruler does, only he did it better.”

“No, that’s not what rulers do _,_ Bill! He had no compassion, no empathy. And if absolute tyranny wasn’t terrible enough, he apparently slaughtered his own soulmate for trying to stop his mad pursuit of power!”

Bill paused. “Well, I guess the good news is that my soulmate’s already dead this time around. I don't owe them anything. There’s no one to stop me from pursuing my goals.”

"But that's the thing, Bill. He's not dead. He's been forced back into this world because of your shitty life choices, and frankly he's a bit pissed at you at the moment."

Surprisingly, something in Bill’s chest loosened, a part of him he thought he'd gotten rid of a long time ago. Still, he was unmoved. He could care less about some random man he'd never met. The only one that ever mattered was here, right in front of him. If Bill's ambitions somehow hurt his soulmate, or even led to his death, Bill couldn't bring himself to care as long as Pine Tree was safe at his side.

"He can throw as many fits as he'd like, as long as it's not in my vicinity. I don't care what this faceless person thinks of me. I don't need him,” Bill said, careful to not let his expression slide into a pout.

Dipper just sighed deeply. "Well that’s a shame, because…drumroll…" Dipper said with a dark, wry little smile, "I am him."

Bill nearly fell of the ledge of the well inside, and Dipper had to pull him upright to stabilize him. The touch brought back the feeling of warmth he desperately craved, but he almost didn’t notice amidst the shock.

" _What_?" Bill said.

"I'm not the emperor's soul mate, Bill. I'm yours." Dipper stared intensely at some nearby foliage, fiddling with the leaf of an ivy vine. “Everyone just assumed that Phoenix was my soulmate, because at the time they found me you had just been born. You were barely a real person then, so no one considered the possibility that we would be the true match.”

As soon as the words were spoken, Bill inexplicably recognized them to be true, like a fundamental fact of the cosmos. The sky was blue, reality was an illusion, the universe was a hologram, and Dipper Pines was Bill Cipher’s soulmate.

But there was something he didn't understand, something that kept him from fully internalizing this certainty. "My soulmate died years ago. I felt it,” Bill said.

Dipper’s expression was thoughtful. “It must have been because of the ritual I performed to ditch the bracelets blocking my magic, which caused me die temporarily. That was what you felt. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it would affect someone else.”

And just like that, it was all so easy to accept. An amalgam of emotions swelled within him, stronger than he’d ever felt before. Feelings like gratitude, relief, exhilaration, and want—but also fear and worry—mixed to create a confusing sensation that left him restless and innervated with a need to do something drastic to placate his furiously beating heart. He had a fleeting vision of just throwing Dipper on the floor and having him then and there. How he desperately craved the sight of those naive hazel eyes widened in surprise; how he wanted nothing more than to take his time wrecking those pretty lips until they bloomed a perfect blood red.

Bill figured the goal of this tale was to teach him some sort of lesson and get him to reevaluate his life choices, but the moral of the story was lost amidst the revelation churning in his mind; he couldn't focus on any thought other than the fact that his Pine Tree was really _his_ Pine Tree, that Dipper was a sack of meat and salt water and oxygen somehow mixed to create a unique entity meant specifically for Bill Cipher. The world was a strange, wondrous place.

“Well,” Bill spread his arms wide, “since some arbitrary and invisible power of the universe decided you were it for me, there's really no use fighting it, Pine Cone. I'm never letting you go. There was no chance of that before, and there's especially no chance now, so just accept it and stay with me. I'll even let you continue your obligatory whining about morals and peace if it makes you feel better about the whole thing." Bill waved a hand benevolently.

“You're conveniently missing the point of my telling you this." Dipper's mouth twisted into a bitter grimace. "It's not that easy. You _killed_ me last time, Bill. Just because we’re destined for each other doesn’t mean we’re destined to be with each other. If you continue on the way you've been going, there won't be a happy ending for either of us. There can’t."

Ah, was that an ultimatum? Lose the crazy or lose Dipper? Bill smirked internally. Did Pine Tree really think that was going to work? Negotiation, deception and manipulation were in Bill's blood; getting his way was practically a birthright, and Dipper had never learned to build a solid defense against that despite how long they've known each other. Dipper might’ve been clever and book smart, but he was a lost little lamb when it came to social competence and handling other people. The human would fall into Bill's lap one way or another, as long as Bill was smart about it. In the meantime, there was no harm in letting Dipper think that Bill could be swayed by his words. He could play along with Dipper's demands until it became too inconvenient for his own plans. It was in his best interests to keep the other's guard lowered, to reestablish the trust between them lost through years of separation. That and he couldn't deny that he was curious about the mysterious prisoner as well.

"All right. How about this? We do this your way for now, and when it inevitably crashes and burns, I'll be sitting here with a print out of my back up plan, my sizable army, and an angelic choir of small children singing 'I told you so.’”

Dipper, who'd had his mouth open in preparation to retaliate once more, closed it and blinked, clearly having expected more of a fight than Bill put up. 

"Fine. Okay," Dipper said in the testy, uncertain manner of someone who wasn't sure if they'd actually won the argument or not. "Just...for the sake of world peace, please refrain from rolling out the tanks. I promise you the emperor can be brought down without a need for the exorbitant casualties you’re undoubtedly imagining."

Bill shrugged noncommittally. He wasn't promising anything. "Suppose that's true. What's next on the agenda then, tough kid?"

Dipper pressed his mouth together irately at the dismissive tone. "I'm meeting the prisoner again tonight, but I still can't speak to him, because, well...there's this pendant I'm required to carry that shows me the way to the captive, but it's spelled to prevent me from communicating with anyone or removing it until I've returned from the task. I'm working on trying to dismantle the spell, but it's kind of a work in progress," Dipper confessed.

"You could wait until you break the spell, which might take months. Or, I have a better plan. Let me go with you. Tonight," Bill suggested. "The emperor relies too heavily on spells, and with spells there are always loopholes since one can never think of everything. You won't be able to talk to the prisoner, but I will, and with my abilities I can easily follow you to your destination without being seen."

Dipper’s eyes lit up. "There's an idea. That could definitely work.” Then, just as suddenly, his expression changed into one of apprehension. "But the question is...do I know I can I trust you with this?"

"When have I ever done anything to make your life difficult?" Bill grinned cheekily, deliberately making light of a heavy question.

Dipper rolled his eyes. "Do you want the list starting from two decades ago or two millennia?"

"Straight through the chest, Pine Cone."

"Stop calling me that. Pine Tree is bad enough," Dipper grumbled half-heartedly. "Anyway, I should return to my shift now so that my coworkers can be reassured you didn't have me beheaded or something. My phone has been going off non-stop for the past thirty minutes, so either everyone’s really worried about me or Beyoncé just dropped a new surprise album.”

“See you tonight then, Pine Tree.” It wasn’t a question.

“…Fine. I'll be in front of the emperor's study at eleven, so just follow me then."

"Aye aye," Bill yelled at his back as Dipper headed towards the main building of the castle.

 

* * *

 

That night he followed Dipper unseen with ease, disappearing and reappearing from one hiding spot to another as the brunette led them downstairs to the main throne room.

Bill rolled his eyes at the location of the secret entrance as the statues supporting the throne rotated to reveal a set of staircases leading into the ground. The emperor had an unnecessary and impractical flair for dramatics. While the principle of hiding something in plain sight was sometimes effective, it was only so when done properly. Bill could think of a hundred better places to hide an important prisoner than below such a frequently visited area, which was one of a hundred reasons why he would be a better ruler than the current incompetent one.

As they walked down the corridor leading to the captive's room, Bill skimmed the surface of Dipper's thoughts—with permission, as he was supposed to use his telepathy to relay messages from Dipper to the prisoner. He found a mixture of nervous anticipation as well as intense confusion, the thoughts mostly revolving around the question of why the captive looked so much like his great uncle and why he was working for the emperor. Bill also found it a curious situation.

Dipper stepped through the thin silvery film separating them from the prisoner, and Bill teleported in after him. He recognized this kind of unique magic barrier. It was one of the most secure and sensitive gates in use by the regime. He knew that if he'd tried to simply walk straight through, it would've triggered some sort of mechanism that sent the emperor's most trusted guards running in here, possibly even inviting the presence of Phoenix himself. This captive must be the real deal.

Bill wasn't sure what he'd been expecting to find when he made his way inside, but to his surprise the mysterious prisoner was merely a nondescript old man sitting behind a desk, scrawling in his notebook in the serious manner reminiscent of an old, stern professor. The captive was unsurprised to see Dipper when he walked in, but he seemed shocked and disconcerted by Bill's sudden appearance. He clearly hadn't been expecting to see the younger Cipher venture into his room.

"Your highness," the elderly man greeted neutrally, but Bill could read the frustration and loathing in his thoughts. This was not a man who held an ounce of respect for the royal family.

"This is your show," Bill said as he turned to Dipper. "What do you want me to ask him?"

_Ask him about Stanley Pines._

"Pine Tree here wants to know if you know a Stanley Pines," he dutifully passed on.

The old man's eyes narrowed immediately, his features contorting angrily in a way that suggested he was done pretending to be civil. "The only time I hear that name is when Phoenix is holding my family over my head. What do you barbarians hope to demand from me now?"

 _Family?_ The pieces were quickly beginning to slot together. "Well, well, well,” Bill said delightedly, “these coincidences paint quite an amusing picture. First of all, I'd like to introduce Dipper Pines. Stanley Pines is his great uncle."

"Dipper Pines? Shermie's grandson!" The elderly man sounded astonished. "Why have they brought you here? To blackmail me into working on another depraved project?" He swiftly turned around to glare at Bill, hatred brimming behind weary eyes. "You pile of scum! Don't drag my great nephew into this mess. Haven't you Ciphers spilled enough blood in our family?”

Dipper's eyes widened. _This really is Grunkle Stan's brother—his twin, most likely,_ the brunette thought. _Spilling blood in our family? What is he talking about?_

"Oh, no, no, no. I'm not the villain. Not today, at least. Don't lump me in with the emperor. He's quite a dick, as I'm sure you've noticed, and pretty unfit to rule," Bill said lightly.

The old man seemed taken aback. "You're telling me you oppose your own father's claim to the throne, and I'm simply supposed to just take your word for it?" He paused and scoffed. "What am I talking about? Backstabbing has always been the treasured royal pastime. Family betrayal even more so."

"Believe me, if Phoenix and I were working towards the same goals, whatever you're doing here would've been completed years ago. No, my goal is to strip him of his throne, his dignity, his reputation, and everything else—to _ruin_ him. Plus, he has something of mine," Bill added in a hard voice as he eyed an oblivious Dipper. "And I intend to take it back."

The elderly man must have caught the intention behind his words, because he levied a suspicious, narrow-eyed glare at him.

 _We're running out of time_ , Dipper suddenly thought frantically at Bill. _We need to get him out of here. Save the exposition dump for later._

Of course that was Dipper’s plan—breaking the prisoner out quietly. He was so simple-minded, so idealistic. But even if they did, what next? Suppose this prisoner really was the one helping Phoenix build a nightmare army. Suppose breaking him out successfully foiled the emperor's plan. Even then, the emperor would still have substantial control of the empire, and Dipper was naive if he thought Phoenix could merely be brought down through tactical espionage. If a Cipher could be overthrown with such simple measures, they wouldn't have been sitting atop the same throne for millennia.

No, it would take a Cipher to topple a Cipher, and Bill had grander visions of war.

After Dipper stepped through the translucent gate Bill followed him out, teleporting through with the old man in tow. Dipper gave a little sigh of relief when it seemed like they had successfully circumvented the barrier, but what he didn’t realize was that Bill wasn't about to just let them silently leave the palace. This was where Bill’s plans could no longer align with Dipper’s. This was his opportunity to finally be free.

Bill sent a tiny, unnoticeable spark of flame to the silver curtain, tripping the alarm that would alert security of an unwanted presence. Within moments, two elite guards came rushing in ready to seize the intruder. Bill encircled them with a thick barrier of electric blue fire that prevented them from stepping closer. They began muttering incantations with the intent of casting offensive spells, but Bill tightened the flame threateningly around them as a warning, and they halted in their attempts to use magic. There was nothing they could do now. These were the small fry. Bill was waiting for a bigger catch.

In the meantime, he took a moment to dip into Pine Tree's mind, which was a mess of panic and fear. Dipper was almost certain they would meet their end here and now, which deeply irked Bill. It was as if he had no faith in Bill's abilities.

It was only minutes later when the person Bill was waiting for appeared, looking as regal as ever with a midnight blue cloak drawn tight around stiff shoulders, his cold, penetrating eyes glimmering red. The expression he wore was that of unmitigated fury, which probably had the power to terrify anyone but Bill, whose first encounter with that face happened when he was four and decided to coat the royal throne in blueberry splatters.

"Bill! What. Is. This." Phoenix said through clenched teeth, voice hard and disbelieving. It was difficult to mistake the situation for anything but what it was.

"The consequences of bad parenting," Bill said, spreading his arms wide and shrugging.

The emperor's hands were beginning to glow with red flames. "There are certain things I can forgive you for, things you can come back from. However, this is not one of those things. If you walk out of here with these two traitors, you've forfeited your title as crown prince to the empire of Psykhestris."

"Ah, well that's a shame. Luckily I was looking for a new title anyway. Emperor has a nice ring to it, don't you think?" Bill replied evenly.

There was a growl. Angry red flames shot towards them, but Bill extinguished them with a wave of his arm.

He probably could have finished them all off then and there—probably could have quashed the emperor and his elite guards—but he chose not to do it. He was too vain. He wanted more than just five people as witness. It was not a true victory unless the entire country witnessed the emperor’s defeat. Bill wanted his triumph broadcast on every station in every corner of the world, wanted it to be known that he had the powers of fate backing him. He needed wrest control of the empire straight out of Phoenix’s hands into his own, and that meant this moment was not the right moment.

"Take this as my formal declaration of war, Phoenix. You will not win. I will see to it that you end up broken and ruined," Bill said coldly, golden eyes flashing red.

Phoenix roared furiously, "Why are you doing this? Was it all just for the throne? You would have had your chance, Bill. There was no one else it could have gone to."

Bill narrowed his eyes. "At this rate, you would have left me a heap of ashes to rule over. You're a pitiful leader, and an even more pitiful being. I'll carve my own path—build my own kingdom atop a heap of your drying bones and ruined ambitions.”

At that, the emperor snarled wildly like a desperate hound and lunged towards them. Before he had a chance to strike, Bill vanished the three of them out of the palace, smug grin etched on his face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your extremely kind words and endless patience. I'm sorry for such a long wait, but more updates will be coming up soon! I'm committed to finishing this story by august, before med school sucks my soul. Also this will earn its E-rating soon, so be prepared.
> 
> Special thanks to [extrics](http://extrics.tumblr.com/) for the awesome art of [silverfox!Phoenix](http://extrics.tumblr.com/post/145762716548/dipper-grudgingly-admitted-that-the-demon-was) (hot damn!) and also shoutout to a fellow soulsborne fan because why not :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit content. See end of chapter for warnings.

When Dipper opened his eyes, he saw that they’d reappeared inside a small room. The curtains were drawn, the only dim lighting provided by two gaudy heart shaped lamps that painted a light pink hue over the peeling white walls. A slightly musty odor permeated the air. There were several file cabinets lying haphazardly on the floor, and in the corner of the room sat a large, plain looking desk with multiple laptops and miscellaneous tech strewn across it. A ragged looking lump trying to pass for a couch had been pushed into another corner along with the king-sized bed to make way for the files littering the floor. This certainly didn't look like a room belonging to a filthy rich, high-maintenance royal, which he supposed was sort of the point. That didn't mean it had to look like it belonged to a serial killer on the run, either.

"What is this place?" Dipper asked skeptically.

"A hideout. The only one within the limits of my teleportation ability. From here we can find transportation to another—" Bill was interrupted by a muffled scream and an oddly rhythmic banging coming from outside the room.

"What was that?" Dipper jumped, irritated by how easily he panicked. He was still feeling on edge from their encounter with the emperor. The adrenaline and disbelief he was feeling imposed a surreal quality to everything around him, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if all the walls in the room suddenly melted away to a vision of a cold grey jail cell.

"Ignore it," Bill said casually as he typed away quickly at one of the laptops sitting on his desk. "We’re only here for one night only. My advice? Don’t leave this room."

"Is it dangerous?" The old man, Stan’s brother, asked.

"Not in the way you're thinking,” Bill replied.

Just then Dipper heard a crash coming from the hallway, and his paranoia refused to leave it be. He wanted to feel some sense of security, however minimal, and knowing what was outside these walls would hopefully dispel some of that uncertainty. Bill would’ve given them a stronger warning if it was truly unsafe, and he just wanted to take a quick peek anyway.

He slid the locks open and opened the door slightly, poking his head out. There was a long hallway with the kitschiest pink wallpaper imaginable, decorated with an assortment of small red hearts that had little faces on them. That wasn't even the most shocking part of it. The most shocking part was the sight of a couple with all their clothes torn off, going at it against the door of the room adjacent to theirs. Apparently they hadn't been able to hold it in long enough to make it inside the room, and the woman was backed against the wall with one leg wrapped around her lover to tug him closer. Dipper turned a red to match the wallpaper and slammed the door shut, leaning his back against it.

Bill tore his eyes away from the computer screen to cackle at the expression on Dipper's face.

"Your hideout is in a love motel?" Dipper said incredulously.

"I warned you, Pine Tree," Bill sang, the little shit. He’d probably withheld information on purpose, knowing Dipper wouldn’t be able to resist taking a peek. He summoned a small gust of wind to smack Bill’s head against his laptop keyboard, which only garnered him a smirk in response.

Dipper's great uncle looked back and forth between them with a perplexed look on his face, as if he couldn't for the life of him comprehend the nature of their relationship…which was fair; Dipper couldn’t either.

"No, I'm not usually quite this lenient. Pine Tree is a special peasant,” Bill said, probably having read the unvoiced question in the old man's thoughts.

Dipper turned to address Stan’s twin, "I'm really sorry I didn’t get a chance to ask earlier, but what’s your name exactly?"

"Ford Pines, short for Stanford Pines. As you've probably guessed by now, Stanley Pines is my twin brother."

"Grunkle Stan’s never mention you," he blurted, before realizing how insensitive that comment was.

Ford sighed. "Well...we didn't exactly part on the greatest of terms," he said wearily. "It's mostly my fault. I was a misunderstood academic at the time, jaded by the constant ridicule I faced from my contemporaries. I wanted nothing more than for someone to realize the value of my work rather than mock me for it, and because of that it was all too easy to fall for the emperor's promises of recognition and glory for my advancements in magic and science. Phoenix saw in me a potential he could weaponize, and tempted me to work for him despite Stanley's objections. Stan thought I was a traitor for wanting to work for a tyrant, but he didn't understand how lonely ingenuity could be, and that was something that had been gradually tearing us apart. By the time I realized the emperor's true goals, it was too late. He revealed the true extent of his depravity having two of my family members killed in order to keep me under his control.”

Stan hesitated, then looked Dipper in the eye.

“These people…they were your parents, Dipper. And I’m sorry, I truly am. This is something I will never forgive myself for." And there was no suspecting otherwise; Dipper could see the weight of the guilt he carried in every line of his face, from the droop of his eyelids to the small permanent downturn at the edge of his mouth. It was clear this wasn’t a burden he’d had the chance to ease with time, especially not locked deep underground with no one to talk to and no one to help him work through the regret.

Dipper would never have suspected that somehow this was the true cause of his parents' deaths. They were just an ordinary suburban couple that loved potlucks, went to PTA meetings, and paid their taxes on time. The world was a despicable mess, and Dipper wanted nothing more than to stay in this tiny room forever, never having to step outside and face the reality that awaited them.

Instead, he put a tentative hand on Ford’s shoulder. "It’s not your fault," he said through the lump in his throat. "I know you want to hear that I forgive you, but I won’t. There's nothing to forgive you for. No one should have to take responsibility for someone else's cruelty."

Ford blinked and swallowed, turning his head to look out the window. Dipper seized that moment to tentatively step forward, pulling his great uncle into a hug. It felt a little strange to share such a close moment with someone unfamiliar, but it was a warm sort of strange—a strangeness that echoed a sentiment like _I don't know you, but I know you were meant to be someone important to me_.

The moment was interrupted when Bill suddenly spoke, "A pilot waiting for us at five a.m. in a landing field about ten minutes away from here. Any objections?" He seemed oblivious to the scene behind him as he swiveled away from his laptop screen, then immediately turned back to what he was doing. "Oh, my bad. Carry on with the emotional catharsis."

"It’s fine," Dipper said as he pulled away from the embrace. "Where are you flying us? You can’t expect to drag us along without telling us where we're going, or what your plans are.”

Bill huffed. “Demand, demands, Pine Tree. Fine. We’ll be going to a military base I established in one of the bordering country. It's a strategic location to finalize our plans, and from there we can finally work on carrying them out."

" _Our_ plans?” Dipper said flatly. “I remember vehemently not signing up for this. If you’re going to keep doing whatever you want with zero regard for my opinion just drop me off in some warm tropical country where I can seek asylum instead, and only visit me when you’ve become a world-renowned philanthropist. Do I look like some loyal backscratcher that follows you around without question?”

"You used to scratch my back sometimes,” Bill said mournfully. “It was nice.”

Dipper ran a hand down his face. “Take this a little seriously, please.”

“Fine. And what would Your Highness like to do instead?” Bill asked as he turned his back to them and opened up a game of Minesweeper on the computer.

"Well, for one thing, before diving straight into the deep end I want to meet up with Mabel first. It’s important. I’ve been meaning to tell you guys everything that’s happened to her so far, but never got a chance to since everything all happened so fast.” He gave Bill and Ford the full story, first explaining Mabel’s years of memory loss, then her encounter with Pacifica and the latter’s role in the Alliance. “Since they’ve been working with me throughout all of this, they deserve to know what’s going on, and Mabel, especially, deserves to know what happened to her parents. She deserves to meet her great uncle.”

“Where is this Alliance?” Bill asked as he right clicked to flag a mine.

“In the bordering forest north of Gravity Falls. It’s located close to the entrance to the fae realm in an area where magical energy is strong, making it almost impossible to find unless you know where to look. It’s safe,” Dipper promised. He needed to see firsthand that his friends and family were safe, and possibly buy some more time to show Bill he was wrong. Even if that didn’t work out, at the very least they could gain an important ally in Pacifica.

Bill made a frustrated little noise when he clicked on a bomb that ended his game. “Fine. I can delay my plans for a short time. It’s not a good idea to linger around Gravity Falls, but I’m sure if I refuse you’ll go anyway, and it would be pretty difficult to make sure your head stays on your shoulders from afar. The forest is past the reach of my teleportation abilities and I’m already pretty drained from the jump here, so we’ll have to get there by car.”s

Dipper breathed out, relieved at Bill’s agreement. “How far is it from here?”

“Maybe a four hour drive. Since we’re traveling by car and not plane, I can have someone pick us up in about twenty minutes. Don’t fall asleep.”

“I’m not going to fall asleep,” Dipper said indignantly, but before he knew it he’d done just that, passing out on the raggedy couch.

 

* * *

 

By the time Dipper woke up, not only were they already in the car but the forest was in view as well. The sun had yet to rise. The cover of darkness made Dipper feel safe from the numerous people probably searching for them.

“What did I miss?” he asked, rubbing sleep out his eyes.

“Some highways. Some goats,” Bill said.

“Bill has been clarifying past and current events to me in a manner free of the emperor’s bias and explained the circumstances leading to where we are now, including your history with Phoenix and himself,” Ford said more helpfully. They were on a first name basis now, Dipper noticed. Ford looked pretty comfortable with the demon, despite the fact that the old man seemed like a naturally suspicious person and they had only recently been acquainted. It was all too easy to forget that Bill was good at acting charming and innocuous when he wanted to.

“I don’t know if you can really trust Bill to be unbiased. Or completely honest, for that matter.” He didn’t want Ford to distrust Bill, but he didn’t want him to be oblivious to Bill’s manipulations, either.

“Hurtful,” Bill said.

“True,” Dipper corrected.

The car finally pulled to a stop near the edge of the forest and they all climbed out, thanking the driver. Dipper summoned a ball of light , letting it flicker and dance merrily ahead of them to illuminate the way. He led them up a narrow trail until the path ended, then ducked and weaved through the trees, wading through creek after creek until they finally stopped in the middle of a clearing that looked like any other clearing with ordinary green grass and ordinary toadstool mushrooms atop ordinary logs. He stood facing a large, slanted rock on the edge of the clearing and began counting trees in a clockwise direction. When he got to the eighth tree, he stopped, looking at the narrow space between the eighth and ninth trees with a small amount of uncertainty.

“If we walk through these trees, we should theoretically be in front of the fortress. I think.”

Bill shrugged. “The worst thing that could happen is we all feel a bit silly.”

Fair, Dipper supposed, so he took the initiative and stepped between the two trees. For a second nothing happened, and then there was a strong pulling sensation. He shut his eyes, and when he opened them again, he was standing in front of the gates to a large, red brick fortress partially devoured by lush green ivy. Bill and Ford followed close behind.

They were greeted at the gates by two guards, both of them looking fresh and diligent enough to be new recruits. “State your purpose,” the one on the left ordered.

Dipper didn’t know the proper protocol for this. “Uh…we’d like to speak the leader of the Alliance.” It came out sounding like a question.

The one on the right gave him a disbelieving glare. “Yes, and I’m the emperor,” the guard mocked. “Tell me, how did you find this place?”

Bill, probably not used to being denied anything, stepped forward looking livid. Dipper grabbed his wrist and tugged him back. “Please, Bill. It’s too early in the morning for this and we have enough enemies as it is.”

The first guard looked back and forth between them and seemed to have put some pieces together, because he turned pale and elbowed his colleague. Before the conflict could escalate, the gates opened from within, revealing a man dressed in dark blue robes.

“Elder!” The two guards stiffened in surprise.

“My sincerest apologies for the misunderstanding,” the elder said as he addressed his guests. “Please, come with me.”

“Thank you,” Dipper replied as they stepped past the gates, leaving a pair of flustered guards behind them.

They were led by the elder to Mabel and Pacifica, who were waiting in a room underground, only this chamber was very different from the dim one Dipper had awoken in following his five-year-long nap. It was much more opulent, with artificially conjured sunlight streaming through multi-colored stained glass windows. At the centerpiece of the room was an impossibly large amethyst geode which had been split in half to reveal its bright purple crystals, arranged to hold up a translucent glass tabletop that caught the rainbow lights passing through the windows on its surface. Dipper suspected this choice of setting was for Bill’s benefit, as a display of wealth from one political power to another.

“Dip-dop!” Mabel flung herself into his arms. He caught her, staggering back a little.

“Hey, Mabel. Pacifica,” he greeted.

“You still look odd, Dipper.” He took a moment to be offended, before he figured out what she was talking about. By now he was pretty used to his false appearance. He was almost beginning to forget what he’d looked like before.

“I’ll take care of it,” Pacifica said, waving a hand lightly to lift the galamour and easily restoring his original appearance.

Ford made a small noise of surprise. “Now he definitely looks like a Pines.”

Mabel finally turned to look at the speaker, her expression shifting into one bewilderment. Dipper knew where she was coming from, and figured introductions were in order.

“Mabel, Pacifica, this is Stanford Pines, twin brother of Stanley Pines. He was the emperor’s former prisoner.”

Mabel’s eyes widened. “Wendy told us your theory about the prisoner’s identity and it all seemed pretty wild at the time, but…wow, I can’t believe Grunkle Stan really had a secret twin he never told us about.”

“It’s pretty unbelievable even for Stan, in all his shady glory.” The twins exchanged fond smiles at the thought.

Dipper glanced to the side and found Bill and Pacifica silently sizing each other up with intense, evaluating glances. Pacifica eyed the demon calculatingly. “Your highness,” she greeted with a polite nod.

Bill bowed his head respectfully in return. “Madam Northwest.”

Mabel, however, had no such inclinations for courtesy. “ _You_ —” She jabbed two fingers towards Bill’s eyes, then towards her own. “—and I will be trading words later.”

“Of course, Shooting Star,” he replied with a mischievous little smile after glancing at the cosmic print on her sweater.

“Please, I’d like to invite you all to take a seat,” Pacifica said as she gestured towards the empty table.

After they made themselves comfortable, Pacifica turned to Ford with a business-like sharpness. “Now, it seems that you were the one the emperor kept imprisoned to work on the portal. Tell us as much as you know.”

“I was the one working on the portal, yes. I tried to stall its progress for as long as I could, but unfortunately he had many other ways of making me comply, up to and including threatening my family.” He repeated his story like he’d told Dipper before, and there was a tense moment of silence after he finished.

“That’s awful,” Mabel said softly, “I can’t believe our parents died like that.” Dipper reached out to grip his sister’s hand.

“How close is he to being able to open the portal?” Dipper asked.

“Unfortunately, even without me, it might only be a matter of months—maybe a year—before he succeeds.”

“We need to stop him before then. I assume you had some sort of plan in mind,” Pacifica said addressing Bill. “My sources tell me that you abandoned your title by declaring war on the emperor. Speculation is already running wild amongst news agencies, and the empire will definitely be in for a shock when they wake up this morning. I’m aware of some of the political alliances you’ve made in secret over the years, so I presume you’re actually serious about this and weren’t just throwing a temper tantrum.”

“Well, it was still a bit of the latter, but I do believe I have a fairly solid plan. A map, if you will?” Pacifica made a few sharp gestures with her hand and the stained glass decorations on the windows began rearranging, changing in shape and color so that a detailed world map was then reflected onto the glass table.

“Neat trick,” Bill said approvingly. “But anyway, while my plan is a multifaceted approach with many considerations, the military element in its essence basically amounts to taking advantage of the instability of the recently conquered border countries here,” he pointed to a group of northern territories, “to push inwards, while simultaneously taking control of Gravity Falls with a more specialized group of magical forces that would be comprised of magic-users, fae, and…dare I say it… _dragons_.”

Pacifica’s meticulously groomed eyebrows shot up like lightning, while Bill seemed delighted at her surprise. “Mages I understand, because of the strict limitations Phoenix has imposed on the freedom of those that aren’t employed by the crown. The fae—that one is obvious. But the dragons? The same group which hold a week-long national holiday celebrating centuries of non-interventionism? They would make an exception for _you_?”

“No, not for me, precisely. The newer generation has no desire to be as isolated, having grown up in the globalized era, and the older generations are beginning to recognize that if they don’t walk on the international stage, one day it will walk over them instead. All I did was provide them with an opportunity to make their grand debut—a chance to be written in history books as a noble race breaking their history of isolation to save the world from the clutches of an indisputably tyrannical villain. It’s romantic, no? Much more romantic than the truth, which is that they’re a stubborn group of old ancients who have only now discovered a side route off their current path to obsoleteness.”

Pacifica hummed. “A new world player, huh? This should prove to be interesting. But in the meantime, another important quandary exists. How will you convince the world that you’re any different from your father? Why would those who oppose the emperor’s tyranny rush to put another Cipher on the throne?”

“What an insightful question! I’ve been waiting for someone to ask. It all comes down to image, as I’m sure you, of all people, would understand. Imagine a charismatic, carefree, and idle royal who spends most of his life seeking trivial amusements. A playboy with little interest in politics but has showed citable interest in expanding civil liberties through the course of several years. Bright, but not bright enough to be unmanipulable, and non-threatening enough that political interests, regardless of their stances, feel they can mold him to their ends. This is the image I’ve been cultivating ever since I’ve been pushed into the public eye. That, plus a perfectly timed backstory reveal about the tragic circumstances behind my mother’s death, will paint a picture of a son who seeks to depose his cruel and despotic father out of necessity, not political ambition.”

Mabel levied him with an unimpressed look. “That’s a neat little presentation for the public. I’m sure they can appreciate it. So then why should _we_ want to help put you on the throne?”

“ _Because_ , Shooting Star, otherwise fire will rain from the sky and an implacable darkness will descend, bringing with it death, destruction and oppression. Contemporary civilization will collapse, your favorite T.V. show will be cancelled, and we’ll have to hide underground in dark bunkers with the cockroaches, like in that one movie starring some guy with sick abs.”

Pacifica eyed the map speculatively as Bill continued to be melodramatic. “It won’t be easy by any stretch of the definition,” she said finally, “but quite honestly, I’m impressed by the precision and depth with which you planned your revolution, and you do appear to have a solid chance at victory…assuming that the emperor fails to establish the portal in time. If he does, there is little chance for the world, regardless of whether he successfully wields the power of the other realm or he finds himself incapable of containing its immense power.”

She wiped the projections off the table with a flick of her wrist and swept her hair up into a knot on top of her head. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a photo shoot to be fashionably late for. Let’s keep the world intact for the meantime, yes?”

 

* * *

 

That evening, after a whole day spent looking morosely into the distance and overfeeding the garden pond Koi, Dipper’s self-indulgent pity session was interrupted by light footsteps. He looked up and saw Mabel, who nudged him to make room for her on the edge of the pond.

“What’s up, ol’ brother mine?”

“Oh, nothing, just the usual...feeding fish and toppling monarchies, you?”

“Well, nothing so exciting as that, maybe just a bit of the latter.”

Dipper smiled. “Remember the good old days when our biggest worries were trying to keep Grunkle Stan out of jail for swindling and trying to make sure Soos didn’t eat the brightly colored mushrooms?”

“Don’t underestimate our past selves, Dipper. Those were some impossible tasks.”

Dipper laughed and shook his head. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“I think my favorite Stan scam was when he found that oval-shaped rock in the woods and convinced some pretentious rich aristocrat that it was a dragon’s egg.”

“And then used the money he got from that to commission a statue of himself in the middle of Circle Park?”

“Only the sculptor wasn’t very good, and the statue was terrifying. It would make kids cry, especially after some punks vandalized the plaque so that instead of saying ‘I heart kids,’ it said ‘I eat kids,’” Mabel finished, tears of laughter running down her face. Dipper collapsed against her giggling.

They stayed like that for a while, leaning against each other and reminiscing about their childhood.

“Looking back on memories is always so much fun,” Mabel started after a long, peaceful silence. “But it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. What’s that expression? Looking through rose…rose-tinted glasses? Regardless, back then you were kind of a loner and I was constantly getting my heart broken, and while Stan was a good guardian, he wasn’t exactly equipped to raise two kids alone.”

Dipper hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah, that’s a good point. Time does change perspective. Maybe in ten years we can look back at this stage in our lives and be like, ‘Wow, good times, good times. That Bill, what a silly dude, with that silly war. How silly of him.’”

Mabel punched him lightly in the shoulder, then after a moment turned to look at him with a more serious expression. “Do you…do you genuinely believe this war doesn’t need to be fought, Dipper?”

Dipper sighed. “I can’t help but believe there must be some other way.”

“Well, like what?”

“I mean, I don’t claim to be an expert on overthrowing dictatorships, but I feel like it was unfair to rule out nonviolent resistance before it was even on the table, you know? We’re charging ahead before considering other options. Have we thought this through enough to justify all the lives we’d be putting at risk? Like…what about a good, old-fashioned assassination, even? Your favorite.”

“I don’t know,” Mabel said gently. “Maybe civil resistance is effective against some regimes, but you know historically that hasn’t been the case in this empire. It’s a strategy that’s ideal in its nonviolence, but it may or may not be successful and it’s a process that takes _time_ , which is something we don’t have in abundance right now. And as for assassination, that’s really not as simple and straightforward as it sounds.”

“This is all just so…so difficult. We can philosophize all day but in the end we’re just ordinary folk from bumfuck nowhere who happened to get caught up in something bigger than us. We don’t know what the hell we’re doing any more than anyone else does.”

Mabel spent a long time coming up with a reply. “You want to know what I’m afraid of? I’m afraid that this war might be inevitable, unless you stab Bill in the chest in the middle of the night, and even then…even then we might still be powerless to stop its momentum. But maybe it’s a chance to set things right. To win this battle, Bill has to rely at least partially on the support of those fighting to oppose tyranny, and if he fights in favor of those ideals then he can’t afterwards go against his promises with no consequences.”

“And if he does go against those promises? It's not beyond him to do that.”

Mabel took his hands and held them in her lap. “I know you can stop Bill if he spirals too far out of control. You’ve taught him a lot growing up and there’s no way all of that can amount to nothing; have faith in yourself. You understand him better this lifetime, and he’ll be more inclined to hear what you have to say. I see the way he looks at you every now and then. It’s the look of someone who would do anything to not have to lose you a second time.”

“You’ve always been such an optimist, Mabel,” Dipper grinned and nudged his twin affectionately. “What would I do without you?”

“Too soon, Dipper, too soon,” she joked. “Now get some rest and leave that fish pond alone. Those poor things are probably sick of all your self-pity.”

“That’s a fair point,” Dipper said, glancing upwards at the moon behind soft clouds. “Well, I’m off. ‘Night, sis.”

“Sweet dreams.”

 

* * *

 

There were no sweet dreams. Instead, when Dipper woke up in the middle of the night, it was to the feeling of teeth scraping at his thighs. His boxers were pushed up, and someone was licking and biting at the vulnerable, exposed skin. He yelped in surprise when his groggy mind caught up. Shaking and heart racing furiously, Dipper flicked his wrist to send the body flying across the room with a spell, but the person landed gracefully on their feet with a displeased snarl.

As the figure stepped into the moonlight, Dipper thought it looked like Bill, but something was inexplicably _off_. Maybe it was in the strange way he held himself, or the unsettling way he walked, or the way he tilted his head and looked at Dipper curiously like a great cat surveying its prey, certain of its meal. It was like a carbon-copy imposter.

“You’ve woken up. How fun,” the imposter said with a sharp smile. His voice had a strangely dissonant quality to it, but it was smooth and dark, like poisoned molasses. The figure crawled back onto the bed and hovered above him, not doing anything, just staring with an air of condescension as if waiting for Dipper to do something entertaining like attempt escape. Every point of contact between them burned.

Chest pounding, Dipper shoved at him hard, but the other man effortlessly flipped him over and wrenched his arm behind his back, holding him in place calmly like his violent struggling was simply a minor inconvenience.

“Let go of me,” Dipper said, trying to sound more threatening than threatened. “You can’t be Bill. Who are you?”

“Of course I’m Bill. I’m as much Bill as Bill is. Oh, precious, precious Pine Tree,” he mocked. _“You_ are the reason he hasn’t been feeding me, and I’m unbearably hungry. That’s why I’ve come out to play.”

Sharp canines dragged across Dipper’s neck and Dipper flinched.

“So fragile and so human. One little bite to this sweet, delicate neck and all my problems are gone forever. I almost did, you know. When you were asleep, defenseless.” He felt a clawed finger trace gently down his cheek, a juxtaposition to that chilling tone of voice. “But as you can see, you’re still here and intact, so your fate remains to be seen.”

“Thank you for your benevolence,” Dipper said blandly, “I don’t know what you are, but if you’re here for some sort of misguided revenge then stop taking your time. I’m not indulging your madness.”

“You’re not listening,” it snarled. “I _am_ Bill—the superior part of him, in fact. He thinks I make him weak, but he’s wrong. I make him _stronger_. Don’t you know what I am? No, of course not. Everyone always forgets, even you.”

“Are you the useless and cryptic part of him?” Dipper snapped.

He received a sharp warning nip in retaliation, along with two clawed fingers shoved into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue to keep him from speaking. Dipper almost gagged. The imposter just stared down at him with the facsimile of a serene smile.

“I consume sexual energy, Dipper. I don’t just crave it, I need it. Bill has been denying me, but that can’t last forever. He likes to think of himself as an unyielding stone wall, but he’s just as pathetic as the rest of them, neglecting our needs and refusing to feed because he’s afraid of _alienating_ you. I find this little charade despicable.”

Understanding finally, finally dawned on him. Bill was the sum of two parts…and his mother was a succubus. This was never something Dipper had to deal with before, having mostly known Bill before the demon had come of age. As his mind struggled to process this information, Bill bent down and brought their faces together—too, close, but not touching, and in this proximity his eyes looked dark, dark like deep ocean that would never know the love of the sun. Those eyes pinned him down with a forcefulness that made him hold his breath, fearful of tipping over this fragile equilibrium into something more dangerous.

“I will _not_ let you be our downfall, Pine Tree. I would rather dig you up, root by root.” Wicked lips sought to capture his, but Dipper turned his head.

“I won’t do this. Not with you. Not with someone who thought they could invade my bed at their leisure, intending to do whatever they wanted with zero regard for my autonomy. Let Bill come back, and then we’ll talk,” Dipper negotiated. He knew he was deluding himself, thinking of this Bill as a separate entity from the Bill he knew, because it wasn’t. This was a _part_ of Bill, buried not even that far under the exterior.

“Why should I?” It hissed, licking a stripe up the side of his neck in defiance. “He’s had so many chances.”

“I did not know there was a problem before,” Dipper said slowly, calmly, like he was speaking to a child. “Now it’s different. Now I do. So _trust_ me, and bring him back. I can promise you, we will both not like the consequences of going down this route.”

A long moment of deliberation, a sly smirk, sharp canines sinking into the junction between his neck and shoulder—and then he was gone. Bill, the one Dipper was familiar with, stared down at him looking only a little more contrite than his counterpart had.

“Fuck you and your apparent biting kink,” Dipper said as he brought his fingers to the teeth marks and came away with a trail of blood “ _Ow_.”

“A real piece of work, isn’t he?” Bill grinned ruefully, though his eyes were tracing the wound with an ill-concealed, hungry stare. “I wasn’t in a right state of mind, Pine Tree. My self-discipline weakens the more I put off feeding.”

It wasn’t a true apology, but Dipper could accept that. His relief at the de-escalating situation eclipsed his desire to hear something a little more substantial.

“You do paint quite a lovely picture, though, and as a creature of sin I’m not above taking advantage of the situation,” Bill leered, bringing Dipper’s hand to his lips and licking the blood from wrist to fingertip. Dipper couldn’t possibly imagine how he could “paint a lovely picture” right now, sweaty and disheveled with red fluid leaking from his neck and ruining the nice white sheets below.

He opened his mouth to say as much, but his brain shorted as a skilled tongue snaked around his index finger, drawing a shudder from his body. It was unfairly seductive. _Sex demon,_ his brain reminded him. Right.

“There are over seven billion people on this silly little planet,” Bill’s breath was warm on his cheek, “and out of all of them, I’m the one who can give you the most pleasure. Let me have you, Pine Tree. What could you possibly lose?”

What did he have to lose? Nothing. Everything. His worst fear was being dragged into Bill’s orbit so deeply and permanently that he would just sink into the poison of comfortable denial and always look the other way, unwittingly letting history repeat itself. He owed it to the people he loved—his friends, his family—and to everyone else, to not let that happen.

But he wasn’t the same person as his last incarnation, Dipper reminded himself. He was someone stronger this time around, or so he hoped. Someone shaped by different experiences—by loss, by exploitation, and by circumstances that had wrung the naiveté out of him. This time, he knew what he was getting into, and he was prepared. He would do this on his terms, not Bill’s, and in doing so he would gain an advantage.

With a strength of determination that seemed to have come from nowhere, he yanked Bill down by the collar and sealed their lips together in a bruising kiss, reveling at the wide-eyed look of surprise on the other’s face.

Bill recovered quickly, and then it was like a dam had finally ruptured. Not one to let another steal the show, he licked aggressively into Dipper’s mouth with a forcefulness that channeled all his pent-up hunger, and Dipper’s senses narrowed down to sharp teeth and tongue and furious heat.

Greedy, wandering hands explored under his clothes. One hand slipped past the elastic of his boxers to grip his leaking cock, giving it a few languid pumps, and holy shit, it had been so long since anyone touched him that he was ready to cry. A thumb brushed gently back and forth across the head, an innocuous rhythm that was interrupted by the sensation of the tip of one claw scraping lightly against his slit, and Dipper’s brain whited out trying to process the feeling of overwhelming pleasure interspersed with gentle pain. He let out a horrifying, shameful whining noise, and immediately wanted nothing more than to take it back.

Bill had the most insufferable smirk on his face, so Dipper did the only thing he could in this situation. He jerked Bill forward suddenly, causing the demon to topple down in surprise, then rolled them over until he was the one on top. He haphazardly tugged Bill’s pants off and crawled backwards to swallow the entirety of his impressive length down in one swift movement, ignoring the tears that gathered in his eyes at the feeling of something hitting the back of his throat. He alternated between sucking and slurping and taking it all in, letting the thick cock hit his throat again and again even as he felt like he was suffocating, and even then, it was worth it for the smug satisfaction of seeing Bill with his head thrown back in pleasure, groaning and gripping Dipper’s hair like his life depended on it.

Finally, when the ache in his jaw was too much to handle, he let Bill fall out with a small pop, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bill breathed, “it’s like you were made for that.”

Bill sat up against the headboard and settled the smaller man onto his lap, one hand snaking under Dipper’s shirt to twist at sensitive nipples while the other dipped downwards into the crack between his cheeks, a knuckle grazing teasingly across the puckered hole and causing Dipper to flush scarlet, heart thudding out of its cage.

“Let me have you, Dipper.” His voice was hoarse, desperate. “It’s only fair. I’ve been wanting this for so long, from the torturous moment I was capable of wanting in this way. Since you won’t let me own you, since you won’t let me possess you completely, then at least let me have you this way.”

His entire body burned hot in the face of Bill’s desire, so palpable it was like a smoke that filled the room and invaded his lungs and suffocated him with its toxicity. He squeezed his eyes shut, nodded, and the finger teasing his entrance disappeared momentarily before it returned covered in something cold and slick. He was too dazed and delirious to feel more than mild indignance at the fact that Bill had clearly come prepared for this, but the fleeting thought was immediately shattered by the overwhelming sensation of a finger breaching his hole.

For a moment, his world narrowed down to that single point of contact, and his mind stuttered on the brink of shutting down when Bill suddenly crooked his finger, and Dipper’s brain tipped off that precipice into short-circuiting. And then Bill did it again. And again. And again. Dipper clutched at the other’s arms and helplessly rode the waves of pleasure crashing into him, small keening noises escaping his lips without permission.

“If you keep making those sweet sounds, Pine Tree, no one can blame me if I return you a broken wreck.”

Another finger joined the first one, then another, an almost unbearable pressure stretching him open in preparation for something much larger. A moment later, clothes were torn off, he was pushed onto his back, and everything was happening too fast for his overstimulated brain to comprehend. Bill lifted Dipper’s legs easily and settled them on strong shoulders. Something thick and wet nudged at his entrance. Dipper looked down to see a massive, dripping cock trying to push past his ring of muscle and tensed reflexively. He’d known it was big, but that was all fun and games until the reality of it was pressed against him and he realized that was he was expected to _take that all in_. It was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.

“There’s no way that will fit,” Dipper rasped, gripping tightly at the bedsheets.

“It will,” Bill growled, “even if I have to spend all night fucking you open with my fingers.”

Dipper’s breath caught, and the rush of arousal accompanying that image relaxed his muscles just enough to allow Bill to push through inside Dipper’s ass with a satisfied groan.

“Fuck,” Bill bit out, and Dipper was inclined to agree. He felt so full, and once it was inside he needed it, he needed more. Bill thrust in and out shallowly, keeping it slow to allow them both to adjust, but that wasn’t what Dipper wanted. It wasn’t _enough_. He lifted his hips up pushed forward to force himself onto the demon’s cock, his hole greedily swallowing up as much of it as he could.

Bill looked down at him in amazed reverence. “You are full of surprises, Pine Tree.” But then, just as quickly, that expression turned heated and smug. “But you know what? I think I’d like you to use your words,” he said with a sharp grin, and Dipper was going to kill him with his bare hands.

“I just…I want…just…Fuck. Me. Harder.” Dipper said through gritted teeth, throwing the blonde a hateful glare.

“Mm…nuh-uh. Beg me nicely,” Bill said with a saccharine smile, continuing to thrust in and out with deliberate leisure just to mess with him. It was obvious that he was straining himself holding back, and Dipper was sure that if he refused to play Bill’s game, Bill would eventually break and give him what they both desired, but Dipper was desperate and he was horny, and he _wanted_ more than anything else.

“Please, Bill. _Please,_ ” he begged breathlessly, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to suffer the victorious expression on the other’s face. Without hesitation Bill snapped his hips forward with more strength than warranted considering Dipper was only human, but hell, this was what Dipper asked for and this was what Dipper needed, and Bill was repeatedly slamming against a spot that brought tears of pleasure to the corners of his eyes, and just— _yes_. He whited out with euphoric bliss when he came, and Bill followed soon afterwards, collapsing on him and crushing him with the weight of his body.

He closed his eyes for a few minutes, basking in the warmth of afterglow. Bill pulled out, and Dipper could feel the warm trickle of come drip out of his ass down his thighs, which brought a mild flush of embarrassment to his cheeks.

Dipper was seconds away from dozing off, when he felt fingers thrusting into his sore hole and yelped in surprise. He opened his eyes to see Bill looking down at him with a sly grin, languidly pushing his leaking come back into Dipper’s body.

“Wake up, Pine Tree. You look comfortably well-fucked, but I’m not done with you yet.”

Dipper made a little exasperated noise. “How are you not done? That was exhausting. I’m exhausted.”

Bill refused to answer, just gave his prostate a few firm strokes, and Dipper felt his cock stir weakly despite all the fatigue.

Fuck, he was in for a long night.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: The sex scene begins with some dubious consent (kissing and touching while the other party is asleep), but consent is established before sex actually happens. Let me know if there is something else in this chapter you feel I should warn for.
> 
>  
> 
> Is anyone still reading this fic? I am so sorry this chapter took so long to write, but uh...I'm back? Thanks for being so patient with me, and feel free to yell at me at my [tumblr](http://goodluckinjail.tumblr.com/) if I'm being too slow again (or we can also be friends without the yelling if you'd like)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings at the end of the chapter.

Over the next few months, Dipper found himself bored to tears. It was such a hallmark of the privileged to get to be _bored_ when there was a literal war happening right outside his doorstep, which he felt a little guilty about, but that didn’t change the fact that he was constantly cooped up doing absolutely nothing. Confinement did seem to be fate’s favorite thing to throw at him, however, so he was at least used to it.

Sure, he had an emotional stake over the outcome of the conflict and spent a lot of his time experiencing excitement, anxiety, and disappointment in alternating waves as a result of their victories and losses, but he was nowhere near the front lines, having been restricted to Alliance headquarters for his own safety. The closest he got to combat was the first-person shooter he’d started playing to waste time.

It wasn't always all that bad though. Some days he passed the time helping Mabel with her enormous cross-stitching project (it was a farm scene with an alarming number of alpacas), or holing up in the library to learn magical theory from Stanford. They worked on everything from simple gardening spells to time distortion spells, and each time he was awed by Stanford’s unique way of solving problems. He really was a genius, and Dipper would’ve killed to be apprenticed to someone like him back in his training days.

Occasionally when the atmosphere was light, the three of them would spend an evening playing Dungeons, Dungeons, and more Dungeons. They even got Pacifica to play sometimes, on the rare occasion that Mabel was able to tear her away from her work. The second time she’d joined them, Pacifica showed up with an honest to god spiked club and real armor, looking a little miffed when everyone stared at her with disbelieving grins.

“What?” she’d said defensively. “There is no task I handle with less than my maximum ability.”

Mabel rolled her eyes. “It won't kill you to just admit you're into it,” she said, shoving her girlfriend lightly.

It had been a fun time, serving as a nice escape from reality.

While Dipper hid away, Bill was constantly in the midst of the real action, jumping from location to location wherever he was needed to ensure everything was going as planned. Dipper found himself a little envious, not because he wanted to be closer to the violence but because he was tired of always being expected to sit around like some useless accessory.

Each morning, like clockwork, Dipper sat by himself in a corner of the large dining room, digging angrily into his breakfast cereal while glaring out the window at the main gates. More often than not, he was thinking petty thoughts about wringing Bill’s neck the next time he saw him.

After breakfast today, Dipper decided to laze around in one of the training rooms of the old fortress. It was his favorite one, and there was an obvious reason why; it was a virtual reality forest but with real flora, and the fauna were magically generated illusions rather than holographic ones. Birds of various species flew across an expansive blue sky made to look much larger than it actually was. Something about laying on his back and staring at the fake clouds made him nostalgic for the summers he’d spend at Grunkle Stan’s as a kid. The room was primarily used for target practice, but Dipper liked to come in here to relax when it wasn’t occupied. This place had a certain quality to it that somehow made it feel more vivid, more real, than even real life itself.

He ended up napping there for a few hours, waking up to the sight of a bowerbird carefully arranging rich violet flower petals around its twig nest, making it pretty in the hopes of attracting a mate. Suddenly, all the creatures froze in their movements, as if time had stopped. They flickered and shimmered before slowly fading away to nothing, revealing dull grey walls. Startled out of his thoughts, Dipper glanced at the training room entrance and found Bill lurking in the doorway.

Dipper’s mouth rounded in surprise. “Oh.”

The demon’s arms were crossed, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “I see someone didn’t remember I was coming back today.”

“Ah, sorry.” A sheepish look appeared on Dipper’s face. “It’s hard to keep track of the days when they’re all always the same old. I _am_ glad to see you though.”

The other scowled. “Get a wall calendar! Or just carve tally marks onto the walls like some kind of savage.”

Dipper rolled his eyes. “Or you could just shoot me a quick text before coming back like a normal person, something like ‘hey Dip cya in 15.’ Would that really pain you so much?”

“I’m an important dude! I’m busy _._ Busy _fighting for our lives._ ”

The enthusiasm Dipper had been feeling at Bill’s return dimmed, mild irritation taking its place. “I can’t believe you’re actually getting worked up about this. Are you five?”

“I’m away doing hard, tiring work. I think I deserve to come back to something nice, like a five-star meal or my lover laid out all nice and inviting on atop a bed of silk sheets.”

“I think you’re confusing me for a whore,” Dipper said blandly.

The small wrinkle of agitation between Bill’s brows smoothed over, replaced by dark eyes and a sly grin. “Easy mistake, with the way you moan like one.” His whole demeanor had changed, the angry tension coiling his body changing to a tension of a different kind.

Dipper swallowed.

In the blink of an eye, Bill appeared behind Dipper and pulled the slighter man flush against his body. Then all of a sudden they were no longer in the training room, and Dipper found himself being pushed forward into a soft bed, landing awkwardly in a sprawl of limbs.

Disoriented, Dipper tried to push himself up to see what was going on, but a firm hand gripped the back of his neck and forced his face into the mattress, muffling his surprised yell. It seemed like Bill was in one of his _moods_. It was always hard to predict how the demon would act upon his return. Sometimes after the high of a victory, Bill would come back with the sweetest of smiles and most generous of attitudes, his lifted spirits making him teasing and playful. Other times, his grim mood meant that he was ready to blow at the slightest provocation, taking any excuse he could to snarl and snipe and growl at anyone who so much as looked at him the wrong way. This time, Dipper was willing to bet on the latter.

“It doesn’t look like you’ve been anticipating my return as eagerly as you should have, so let me help you understand what I want to see next time, with a bit of a _practical demonstration_ ,” he said, fake pleasantness dripping from every word.

Dipper lifted his head to speak, but a hand gripped his hair tight in warning.

“Stay there.” The sound of drawers opening and closing echoed in the silent room, and Dipper felt the prickle of goosebumps form on his skin in anticipation.

Hands lifted his hips up off the bed, but Dipper didn’t dare move his head to see what was happening, knowing Bill would be displeased if he did so. His pants were tugged down, baring his ass to the chilly air and making him squirm slightly in embarrassment.

“Spread your thighs and pull apart your cheeks,” a firm voice commanded. That was fast. Bill was _not_ playing around today. Dipper shakily complied, reaching behind himself to expose his clenching hole, almost losing his balance and tipping over from the lack of hands available to balance himself.

Nothing happened for ten, twenty, thirty seconds. No sound, no touch—nothing, just him kneeling on the bed feeling vulnerable, heart hammering. Then, suddenly, he felt something slick press against his entrance. One finger, then two, then…something hard and plastic. At first Dipper assumed it was a toy of sorts, but then he heard a loud squelching sound and felt himself filled with a cold, sticky substance. That was when he realized that Bill had shoved the wide opening of the tube of lube straight into his ass and was squeezing the bottle directly in. When the other finally pulled the tube back out, excess lube dripped everywhere, dribbling obscenely down his thighs as his hole clenched repeatedly around nothing, mourning the loss of being filled.

It wasn’t long before finally something thick and hard was eased inside him slowly, accompanied by a deep, burning pain, since it had been so long since he’d been filled with something so monstrous. Bill had always been much fonder of seeing the big toys stretch him out than Dipper was fond of feeling them in himself. It was a while before Dipper could breathe normally again, and just when he thought he’d recovered, he felt a ring slip around his cock and groaned at the punishment.

Bill flipped him over, a satisfied smirk forming on his face at the sight of his lover’s wrecked, glassy-eyed appearance. Grabbing the soft ropes he’d brought out, he fastened Dipper’s hands above his head, tying each to a bedpost to keep him from satisfying himself.

For the final touch, Bill pushed a button on the toy inside him and caused it to whirr to life, sending vibrations through him that were bound to turn him into a whiny, needy mess. Dipper squirmed and thrashed and begged and begged, but the other just sat at the corner of the bed and admired his handiwork, making no move to alleviate his lover’s suffering. It was nearly intolerable, but not intolerable enough that he felt the need to use his safeword.

“Now that, _that_ is closer to the level of anticipation and eagerness I wanted to see from you when I came back. But thankfully, there’s plenty of time for you to study that feeling now, since I have a meeting to be at now and won’t be back for, oh, about…five hours or so.”

“You _fucker_ ,” Dipper’s eyes snapped open. “You can’t. _Please_.”

“Enjoy,” Bill waved cheerfully, and was gone.

 

 

After Bill finally returned from his meeting and spent the evening making it up to Dipper so well that they thoroughly tested the upper limits of the room’s soundproofing charms, he pushed Dipper onto his side and wrapped protective arms around him, peppering soft kisses against the back of his lover’s neck.

“You alright?”

Dipper nodded, mild post-orgasm mortification slowly creeping onto his already flushed cheeks. “It was good,” he mumbled.

Bill laughed softly. “So precious. Sometimes I still can’t believe I get to keep you.”

“Mmm,” Dipper responded sleepily. He was getting tired, tiny weights on his lashes tugging his eyelids down.

“The war is going well, Pine Tree,” he heard from a voice that sounded far, far away, as waking reality slipped further from his grasp. “Soon it’ll be you, me, and our kingdom, like it was in the very beginning.” Something about that sounded mildly disconcerting, but his limited processing power couldn’t handle it. His foggy thoughts circled around about how much he would like hash browns for breakfast.

“Dipper?” There was a light tap against his arm.

“Yeah…sure, sounds lit,” he said vaguely to appease the voice, and then sleep took over.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Of course, it was usually when things were going too smoothly that the bad news would come, like a prelude to the final climax of an action film.

All in all, the news was not so surprising, but what _was_ surprising was the person who came to deliver it.

Dipper was lounging in the conference room with Mabel and Stan, idly playing a game on his phone while the others did their own thing. It was then that he heard the sound of someone tripping, and a startlingly familiar “ow!” from outside. He looked up, and—

“ _Soos?_ ” Dipper shouted incredulously.

In the doorway to the conference room was his childhood friend, looking like he’d barely aged a day since the last time he’d saw him, only for Soos there probably weren’t any magical properties behind his youthfulness—just great genetics and an eternally childish attitude.

“’Sup my dudes,” Soos grinned toothily.

“How the hell are you _here_?”

Before Soos could reply, a raspberry-colored blur whizzed by, knocking into their unexpected visitor and sending him stumbling backwards.

“ _Soos?_ ” the Mabel-shaped blur screamed.

“Oh man, you guys had the exact same surprised face when you saw me. One of those freaky twin things,” he chuckled.

“We haven’t seen you in forever! How’d you even find us here us? I mean, even Phoenix with all the empire’s resources at his disposal hasn’t been able to.”

“If you’re friendly and harmless enough and ask the right people, it all works out,” Soos shrugged, lifting his arms up in a what-can-you-do gesture.

Seeing Soos here like this was almost surreal. Dipper hated to be the downer, but he had to say it. “It really, really is great to see you Soos, but I’m guessing this is more than just a friendly social visit? Especially since it really couldn’t have been easy to get here.”

Soos scratched the back of his head, looking more somber than Dipper had ever remembered seeing him, and that was even including the times he’d had to guard Dipper for the emperor.

“Yeah, uh, where do I start? Well, okay, see…I made these friends in the palace when I was working there. About a week ago one of the security guards saw some freaky shit and then told some other guards, and eventually word got to me through one of my good friends. Apparently when the guy told the others what he saw, everyone thought he was taking the piss. But well, now he’s dead and so is everyone he’s ever told. ‘Cept me.” Dipper felt a chill run down his spine. “That definitely seemed like bad news bears, and so I figured something was up. Came lookin’ for you lot.”

“And what exactly did he see?” Dipper asked, afraid to hear the answer. The constitutive anxiety that probably made up eighty percent of his being by this point started climbing even higher.

“The emperor’s had one of the ballrooms sealed off for a couple of weeks now, with maximum security guarding it. Said he was making preparations for a grand celebration following his inevitable victory. I mean, no one believed him, not really, but who’s gonna go around questioning a madman?”

“But someone saw what was really in there,” Mabel guessed.

Soos nodded. “Someone peeked in. He said he saw nothing but the blackest black he’d ever seen. Heard voices coming from inside, too. Apparently, the voices sounded like they were coming from everywhere at once and nowhere at all, from forwards in time and backwards as well. Dude said not even the wildest acid trip could come close to that feeling. One of the voices sounded almost like the emperor, but distorted. The voice said that preparations were almost complete, that the doorway was close to completion.”

_Fuck, it couldn’t be…_

“Obviously everyone the guard told about it thought he’d been tripping, or that he was just trying real hard to be edgy. People had been making up all sorts of wild stories about the mysterious ballroom. Mostly jokes, really. But...now everyone’s disappeared, and it ain’t so funny anymore.”

“Your friend, too?” Dipper asked softly.

“Yeah,” Soos said heavily. It sounded so wrong to hear Soos so unhappy. It signaled that something was very devastatingly not alright.

“I’m sorry.”

“He was a great dude.” Soos stared hard at the tapestry and blinked a few times.

“Fuck, okay. _Fuck_. This might worst-case scenario playing out before our eyes, sure,” Dipper said as he laid a gentle hand on Soos’s shoulder, “but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing we can do. It just means that the timeline has sped up, and we can get this whole disastrous mess over with quicker.” He hoped that came out sounding more confident than he felt.

“Let’s call Bill back. And Pacifica. Wendy, too,” Dipper said as evenly as possible. “I’m tired of sitting around and just waiting for things to happen, anyway.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Mabel had decided that to make the meeting as minimally depressing as possible, there would be donuts and color-changing stress balls. Of course, if there was anything in the world couldn’t be made better by donuts, it was the impending collapse of civilization.

“I doubt we’ll have time to capture and take control of the city before he opens the portal. We’ve barely gained an inch at the battle over Gravity Falls, and it’s been months,” Dipper pointed out, effectively cementing his role as the team downer.

“Okay, so we go ourselves,” Bill said with way more nonchalance than the suggestion warranted.

“We should absolutely _not_ do that,” Dipper gaped at him, eyes widening as he stared at the blonde in horror. "We should do literally anything but that. What kind of self-proclaimed master strategist thinks that barraging into a city surrounded by the emperor’s men screams reasonable?”

“Dipper might be right, Bill,” Wendy volunteered. “He might be losing most battles elsewhere, but his control over Gravity Falls is still rock solid. Defenses around the city and especially the palace are nearly unbroachable.”

“If you want to be annihilated so desperately, sign up for a reality T.V. bake-off. Walking past those city walls is a suicide mission,” Dipper said.

“Standing by and letting him open the portal is the suicide mission,” Bill said.

“I think I actually agree with Bill on this one,” Mabel said, glancing at Pacifica as if asking for her thoughts.

“I agree with Cipher as well. From what Soos has disclosed, it seems that the emperor may very well open the portal at any moment, and once it’s open, everything you’ve been working towards will be lost. It’s not worth taking the risk to sit around and hope for an alternate opportunity to fall into your laps,” Pacifica said.

“It could be next month, it could be next week, or it could be ten minutes from now. There’s no way to tell when it will open, and therefore there might not be a way around taking this risk,” Stanford added.

Dipper wasn’t too surprised to hear these opinions. Their little team was composed predominantly of people who thought caution was just slang for cowardice. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s say we do this. How are we getting in? I’m sure the emperor has set up anti-teleportation wards, and I don’t know if we’d stand a chance against an entire palace filled to the brim with security detail, including some of the best magic-users a national treasury can buy.”

“We don’t have to go in guns blazing like an action movie, somehow eliminating fifty people each with physics-defying reflexes. Something a little subtler might do,” Mabel said.

“Like maybe a giant wooden horse? Gift wrapped for maximum authenticity,” Soos said. That earned him a swat on the nose from Mabel.

“Speaking of action movies though, raise your hand if you’ve ever wanted to infiltrate a place disguised as the pizza delivery boy,” Bill said, lifting an arm up.

“Action is not the first film genre I think of when it comes to pizza delivery boys. _Getting_ action, maybe,” Soos waggled his brows.

“Guys, is this really the time to do this?” Dipper asked, taking an aggressive bite out of his donut.

“I delivered pizza as a summer job in high school and it is nowhere near as exciting you guys are making it sound,” Wendy scoffed.

“Okay, okay. Focus, focus, children,” Mabel said, clapping her hands like a schoolteacher.

“Right, sorry,” Wendy said. “It was just getting devastatingly bleak in here. I could plot out a good route for getting us in, but there’s no way it would be perfect given the limited time I have to prepare, especially if we’re planning on going very soon. The best I can do is predict a reasonable course with light foot-traffic and be ready to improvise if something goes wrong. Since Phoenix has been super paranoid lately and unsure of who to trust, our intelligence division is no longer the only group of people responsible for security. He’s hired a series of different private contractors that report directly to him, so even I don’t have a comprehensive picture of his security measures.”

“What would be the chance of us getting caught and executed before we even set eyes on the portal?” Dipper asked.

“Higher than I’d like, to be honest. Our best bet is to get in through an access point that no one really thinks of securing, like the exit door that kitchen staff only ever use for a smoke break, for example. Then we can go from there. I should be able to have a more detailed plan by the time we leave…which would be when?”

“We need leave in two days,” Bill said.

“I can work with that. Once there, some of us will work on disabling whatever spells he has around the sealed-off ballroom, and the rest can confront the man responsible himself.”

“It’s decided then. We’re going all in,” Bill said resolutely.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dipper had never ridden a dragon before, and the idea of doing so was as exhilarating as it was nauseating. A couple of years ago, if someone had suggested to him that there were dragons willing to let strange humans like him ride them, he would’ve heavily doubted their grasp on reality. As it stood, Dipper had to pinch himself to make sure that _he_ wasn’t the one currently hallucinating.

The three dragons before them were magnificent beyond description, and despite not being the largest of their kind, they still spanned the length of several cars lined front to rear. One set of large, ebony eyes blinked lazily down at him, its giant mouth curved downward to form a perpetually unimpressed expression. Dipper felt an urge to shrink away from its gaze.

The three dragons had sleek, cold grey scales, which was startling because Dipper had always thought that dragons were all coated in sparkling, iridescent hues. That was quite a silly assumption to make, because what did he know about dragons, really? Not much, as it turned out. The color of their scales was the reason that they’d been selected as the ideal method of transportation; their armor was naturally coated with radar-absorbent material, which held a similar chemical composition as the paints used to cover stealth aircrafts. Combined with the fact that dragons were inherently resistant to many forms of magic, they were the best bet for avoiding technological detection by radar in addition to avoiding magical detection by wards.

As if sensing Dipper’s nervousness, the dragon that had been staring down at him earlier lowered its long neck down to give him a light nudge. Dipper felt an overwhelming urge to pet its snout and reached a hand out, then hesitated and pulled it back because he wasn’t sure how that would be received. Would that be offensive? He was never trained on the proper decorum for interacting with dragons. What if it was patronizing? He’d always had this irrational fear of going to a foreign country and accidentally flipping someone off by touching his face the wrong way or something.

Undeterred by his hesitance, the large creature ducked its head under his hand and shot him a look, as if daring Dipper _not_ to pet it. That implicit permission was all the courage he needed, and he brushed tentative hands across its scaly face as it made strange sonorous sounds which sounded like a cross between a snore and a wheeze—noises that he later realized were the dragon-equivalent of a purr.

He climbed clumsily onto its back the way he’d been instructed to earlier and held on for dear life, praying this wasn’t going to feel like riding a roller coaster with minimal safety locks in place. Mabel hopped on behind him, looking substantially less anxious than he did. Dipper hated rollercoasters. When they were children, Dipper would refuse to go on one unless Mabel sat next to him and held his hand, resulting in merciless teasing after they survived the encounter.

Pacifica stood close to Mabel, the normally poised and composed leader digging nails into her arms, eyes glimmering subtly, unshed tears held back from sheer force of will. In the world of fae, showing weakness was the easiest way to precipitate an early death. Dipper idly wondered if she’d ever cried in her life. Mabel’s eyes softened when she saw the expression on her soulmate’s face and slid off the dragon’s back, tugging Pacifica in for a hug.

“Nothing will happen to me. Have some faith in your own organization’s training abilities, all right?” Mabel received a slight nod from the head buried in the crook of her neck. “I know you would come if you could, but it’d be a huge political mess. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Pacifica steeled herself and pulled away, lips still upturned into a small frown but head held high, looking less vulnerable than she did a moment ago. “Prove you’re one of our best, then. Do it by coming back unharmed,” she said.

“That I can do,” Mabel smiled reassuringly.

Then once everything was set and they were ready to go, the dragons took off.

 

 

The winged serpents carried the six of them—Dipper, Mabel, Soos, Stanford, Wendy, and Bill—to the precipice of a small cliff and dropped them off, leaving them to navigate to the palace on foot.

They made their way to the periphery of the palace, the sky slowly growing darker and colder as the sun wearily abandoned its post, drawing up a curtain of inky blue behind it as it disappeared from sight. The chilly night air was comforting, and Dipper could pretend his anxious shivering was a physiological reaction to the dropping temperatures.

Before he knew it, they were at the entrance point and there was no opportunity to hesitate. They followed closely behind Wendy, slipping in through the poorly secured, nondescript door occasionally used by weary staff when they needed to escape to the little alley behind the kitchens and light up a cigarette. Just like Wendy had predicted, the kitchens were nearly empty as all the staff had left for the night—all except a single woman, who was sternly kneading something in a large bowl. Dipper thought he vaguely recognized her, but couldn’t for the life of him recall her name.

“Shit, I think she’s heading this way. Get inside the pantry!” someone whispered, and they found themselves squished inside a tiny, dark room, leaving it up to Wendy to come up with something clever. Dipper hated that trying to use an invisibility spell would probably trigger the magic detection systems.

“Let’s do this with a good, old-fashioned distraction technique,” Wendy murmured, pushing the door to the pantry ajar just a fraction before flicking a coin at some light bulb several meters away, causing it to shatter. The woman dropped the slab of dough she was holding and jumped at the noise, turning around to examine the glass on the floor in concern. Sighing, she grabbed a dustpan from the corner of the room and took her sweet time sweeping every piece of glass into the garbage bin as they waited impatiently in the crowded room.

“Wouldn’t a tranquilizer shot have been more effective?” Dipper whispered in frustration.

“Instant sedation is a movie thing,” Mabel whispered back. “An intramuscular tranq dart takes at least, like, fifteen minutes to even begin working.”

After what felt like forever, the kitchen staff member finally left the room, presumably to get a new bulb. They hurried out of the kitchen as quietly as possible and rushed through the door to the emergency stairs after Wendy disabled the alarm.

They took some convoluted route that involved going up, down, and across several floors, before finally making it to a balcony in the proximity of the mysterious ballroom.

“We should split here,” Wendy said, motioning for Stan and Dipper to separate from the group. The plan had been for the two of them to work on disabling the spells, while the rest of them went in search of the emperor.

“Wait,” Mabel said as she grabbed on to Dipper’s arm. “Stay safe, _please_.”

“We’ve got this, alright? You and me both.” He looked her in the eye and finally she nodded, letting him go.

Just as Dipper turned to leave, the sound of a window thrusting opening dramatically halted his movements. He saw Soos’s eyes widen dramatically at something above his shoulders behind him, and a sense of dread struck him before he could turn around to confirm his fears.

At an adjacent balcony on the level above them, Dipper saw the one face he’d hoped in vain that he would never have to see again. What little food he’d mustered the appetite to consume earlier sloshed and churned in his stomach, eager to rush out. He’d always been braver in his own imagination. In his fantasies, he would say something witty and subdue his enemies with crafty tactical maneuvers. Confronted with reality, Dipper, frozen in place, realized just how childish his imagination was. The stakes were high, and Dipper didn’t like that _they_ might’ve been the ones outmaneuvered here.

A group of the emperor’s guards blocked off the exit to the balcony. Another group were on the floor, long range weapons pointed up directly at them. They were trapped.

“Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?” the object of his nightmares proclaimed, imitating a breathy falsetto. “Ah, there you all are! It’s a whole group of my favorite traitors, all in one convenient-to-kill package. Not that it hasn’t been fun watching you wander about the place feeling sneaky and clever, but I have quite the gift for you lot, and I’m simply so excited to show it off. What a historical day. Clear sky, full moon, gorgeous weather…all in all a wondering evening to celebrate my final win.”

“I’m not sure what you think you’ll be winning at, but it’s definitely not snappy dialogue,” Bill retorted, tugging Dipper behind himself.

“What a rude thing to say to the person who taught you how to speak in the first place. Or hired someone to teach you, anyway. Semantics,” he waved a hand. “It seems you’re in quite a tough spot at the moment. Given my inevitably victory, you should really apologize to me and beg for your life. I might even forgive you; you are my son, after all, and still so _young_ and naïve. The rest of them—oh, they’ll suffer in ways unimaginable, but you’ve simply been…led astray. What’s a year’s worth of betrayal when we could have centuries of mutual support and rebuilt trust ahead of us?” He sounded coaxing, almost charming, even, but if he was making such suggestions then he clearly didn’t understand the depth of Bill’s hatred towards him.

Bill started angrily, “If you think this whole mess has just been some foolish outlet for daddy issues, you—well, fine, you might be a little right, but this goes so much further beyond that. I’m accountable for _lives_ now. People are following my lead, maybe not necessarily because they love me, or even like me at all for that matter, but because they at least trust me. These little misguided people have put their faith in me, and even I’m not unfeeling enough to take it all for granted. It almost makes me want to do better, for them. That’s a lot more than I can say for you.”

“Oh, so you’re looking to play the Martyr of the People, now?” the emperor sneered. “It’s not a good look on a Cipher. You’re a leader to these people now, but let’s say you do, somehow, against all odds win against me. When you’re the one sitting on top of the grand throne, absolute power at your fingertips, will you really be thinking about the health and happiness of your subjects? There’s no such thing as just and fair rule, and the more the people love you out of respect, not fear, it means the more you’ve been trading your power away. You’re simply too young and foolish to understand.”

“Oh, look, a tyrant with antiquated ideals. What else is new?” Bill mocked, inspecting a loose thread on his shirt with pointed disinterest.

“Enough,” the emperor growled, clearly fed up with the conversation. “Bring them with me,” he ordered his guards, “and then the show can really begin.”

 

 

They were marched towards the very ballroom they’d been headed to in the first place, but in much less desirable circumstances than planned. Dipper was sure that with some effort they could overpower the emperor if they wanted, but not him along with an entire palace of experienced killers.

In the massive hall stood a consortium of the emperor’s most loyal supporters and counsel, all with smug, punchable expressions, as if they were salivating in anticipation for the best day of their lives. They were dressed to the nines under their blood red traditional ceremonial robes, indicating they believed tonight was likely going to be one to remember.

It seemed that Dipper and his group were too late. The preparations were over, and any moment now…any moment now the emperor could pull the trigger and let hell descend on their planet.

Somewhere, the emperor was making an impassioned speech, promising his followers indominable wealth, inconceivable power, a new era that belonged to them—whatever ambitious fools were into these days. The words were all a buzz in Dipper’s ear as he scrambled in futile to come up with some way, _any_ way, to stop the inevitable, or at least prolong their freedom just that little bit.

Around him, there were voices growing louder and louder, endless praise and words of adulation for the emperor saturating the atmosphere and stifling his ability to think. The emperor was speaking, or chanting, perhaps—words that seemed to bleed together into meaningless nonsense in Dipper’s overwhelmed mental state.

Then, there was a shout as Bill broke free of his restraints and threw a ball of blue fire at the emperor, but by then it was already too late. The words had been spoken. The doors to the ballroom flung open, and a mass of black smoke descended through the halls.

 

 

For a second, it was impossible to tell if his eyes were opened or closed; Dipper was disoriented, his surroundings appearing pitch black. Then, all of a sudden, the black mist retreated so that it wasn’t completely dominating his vision, shrinking together to form three smaller, dancing black masses. The floating shapes wobbled and twisted and shot outwards in sporadic bursts as everyone in the hall collectively held their breaths—some in abject fear, some in horrified awe.

As if shaped by invisible hands, the figures slowly resolved into three imposing creatures that had somewhat humanoid heads with giant wolf-like snouts, their bodies were vaguely horse-like in shape. Staring at one was like nothing he’d ever felt before, like facing the brightness of the sun head-on, only instead of brightness it was the exact opposite. It was something ineffable. The only feeling he could liken it to was _L'appel du Vide_ , or the call of the void—that urge you get to jump when standing on the edge of a cliff, or to take that one step forward onto the path of an incoming train.  Yet that didn’t describe the feeling completely, either. It was something otherworldly.

He’d dreamed of them, these creatures, before. It felt like his dreams had come to life. Although…he didn’t quite feel fear when he stared into the endless dark pools of their eyes. He felt something else—nostalgia, déjà vu, and maybe something like…pity? But _why_? Dipper didn’t understand.

One of them, the largest one, opened its mouth, and a great high-pitched echoing bellow emerged from its throat—that was, if these beings had throats at all. Something was off about the noise. It didn’t seem like the primal, basic roar of a grizzly bear, nor did it seem like the melodious song of a bird in the wild. The series of sounds and signals they were making had a particular pattern and cadence to them, with pauses and dips and _intention_ , almost as if they were communicating, as if they were capable of intelligent speech.

The emperor’s features were beginning to twist with ill-disguised dread. “These are not the mindless beasts that the legends claimed they were. I can’t bind them to me with the same magic used millennia ago when we brought them to our world the first time. Their freewill is too strong, which is incomprehensible. They’re not supposed to have the capacity for freewill.”

“Guess we’re _all_ fucked now,” Mabel muttered.

“They’re trying to speak to us,” Dipper said softly to himself amidst the chaos. “Hold on, they’re trying to speak to us!”

“Stanford,” he said hurriedly, “do you remember a few weeks ago when we were bored and decided to mess around with an idea for a universal translator? I think I figured out a solution involving time looping magic in iterations, and I don’t have time to explain, but if you set up the spell circle, I can add to it.”

Stanford nodded.

“Okay, everyone, shut the hell up!” Dipper shouted across the hall. The room’s occupants, startled at a command coming from such an unexpected source, quieted down. He directed his stare towards the emperor. “Cipher, if you release Stanford and I, we can find a way to communicate with them.”

Phoenix stared at them coldly, deliberating.

“Seriously, what do you have to lose? It’s either that or risk a complete takeover of earth. Which would you prefer?”

An advisor came up to whisper into the emperor’s ear. A bead of sweat trickled down the advisor’s forehead. He had the countenance someone who was barely managing to hold it together.

“Fine. Do your thing, but do not attempt trying anything funny. Know that I’d rather have this planet blow apart than risk lose my empire. If you deviate even slightly from what you’re purportedly doing, my magic users will know, and your head will come cleanly off. No second chan—”

“Yes, yes, posturing, threats, etcetera. Stanford, are you ready?” he said impatiently.

As his great uncle inscribed his spell on the floor, Dipper jumped in with his additions, praying that this worked and that the other-dimensional beings didn’t lose their patience halfway through and decide to maul everyone instead. With the final stroke complete, he was finally able to relax, letting the spell take its course and hoping for the best. That was probably the fastest he’d ever worked in his life, he realized as he slowly became aware of the loud _thud_ _thud_ _thud_ of his heartbeat.

As the glowing lines on the floor retracted, marking the end of the spell, he steeled himself and looked one of the creatures in the eye.

“Do you understand us now?” he asked.

It reared up on its hind legs, very much just like an angry horse. “Here. We have been here before. You brought us to strange lands again. Why?” it bellowed. The translations weren’t perfect and sounded a little awkward, but that was honestly the least of their concerns now. He took a small moment to feel proud of his spellwork.

The emperor barged in, angry finger pointed at the creatures. “How is this possible? How do you have self-awareness? Stories passed through our lineage say your kind are the perfect weapon—strong and powerful, but mindless and easily bound!”

The creature made a loud noise like a bass drum, which Dipper came to realize was laughter.

“After more than thousands of years, you would think we do not have a society now?”

“Well, it took humans millions and millions of years to evolve into beings that were capable of building a damned _fire_ consistently. It’s been more than thousands of years for flamingos and dolphins and chimpanzees, too, but you don’t see this becoming the Dawn of the Planet of the Apes. What makes you so special?”

“So much of your words I do not comprehend. But you desire knowing how we evolved? The last time we were brought to these lands, we were given a gift. You say we were mindless. Yes. We were mindless, controlled. We fought for our master and when done, kept in dark cells in underground. Chained and confined and cold.

But then there was one of your people who thought it was unkind, sad to not have free will. And at times would come downstairs where we were wrapped in chains and bring us gentleness. Warmth. The only warmth was when this person came. They wove spells together to give to us the seed of language, of emotion, of hope.

Then we were sent back to our dimension. Took the seed and let it flourish and after time passed we became who we are now. We have kings and soldiers and armies and weapons. Like you.”

“I don’t get it. What’s happening with magic plants?” he heard Soos whisper to Mabel.

“Metaphor,” Mabel whispered back.

“Regardless of your history, I brought you all through this portal, so _I_ am your new master,” Phoenix declared with all the entitlement of a despot who’s always taken his authority for granted.

“We are masters of us. Not you, small earthling,” it snarled thunderously. The room vibrated. “There is only one we owe debt to, but there are short lives in your world. That one is likely gone.”

The great creature lifted its head high in the air, as if sensing something. It turned to look straight at Bill, who seemed unfazed despite being pinned with that powerful stare.

“But you. You have something of this person’s.”

“Do I?” Bill replied, surprised.

“Ring. You have a ring.”

Mouth curving slowly into a small grin, Bill pulled an old ring out of his pocket. “Ah, this one?”

“It is that one. But it is not yours.”

“You’re right. I merely fished it out of an ancient labyrinth. How do you know?” Bill asked curiously.

“For the one who saved us long ago, it would glow a bright ruby red in their possession.”

The blonde demon held the ring to the light and examined it contemplatively, a look of realization dawning upon him as if he’d figured something out for the first time.

“So it’s like that, then,” he said, a little wryly. Then, stepping easily out of the grasp of two of the emperor’s guards, he walked over to where Dipper was standing next to his spell circle. To the shock of the spectators, he suddenly sank down on one knee.

Presenting the ring in his palm, he looked up and asked, “Dipper Pines, Pine Tree, light of my life. Will you be mine?”

The hall exploded with noise.

“What in the hells do you think you’re doing?” the emperor shouted, bewildered and enraged.

“I, uh, what?” Dipper’s jaw was hanging open in what he was sure was a very unflattering manner. “This is maybe not the best time? During the middle of a potential global catastrophic extinction risk?”

“Do you trust me?”

“I…” Dipper hesitated, “yes. Yes, I trust you.”

“It hurts me to admit it, but I know I’m far from perfect. Still, could you really see yourself with anyone else? After all we’ve been through?”

Dipper sighed. “No,” he admitted. “But I don’t see what this has to do—"

“And do you love me?”

He stared into golden eyes, the certainty in them grounding him amidst the disorder and confusion. He’d asked himself this question so, so many sleepless nights. _Did_ he love Bill? Could he could love his soulmate without accepting everything about him? Was it possible to love a person without loving their incontestable capacity for violence and destruction? Perhaps. Yes, yes he could, he supposed. Whether that made him strong or weak, he didn’t know. What he did know was what his heart wanted, what his soul was drawn to.

“I do,” he replied quietly. Smiling like Dipper had just given him the world, Bill reached forward and took his hand gently, slipping the ring onto his fourth finger.

It lit up immediately, a glowing light that traced glyphs around the ring until wrapping back around to where it started. It was ruby red.

While he couldn’t say that he saw this coming, Dipper found himself somehow unsurprised.

The creatures lowered their heads, a gesture of respect. “Your soul has claim to the ring. Our allegiance is yours.”

“How many of you are there?” Dipper asked.

“Millions.”

“And would you all be willing to fight for me?”

“Most would say it is an honor.”

“Good to know…but I won’t be needing you to. It’s over, Phoenix,” Dipper said, turning to look at the emperor.

The emperor, in turn, looked at Bill.

“I was willing to give you a second chance,” he beseeched. “Would you be cruel enough to deny me one? You are my _son_. I raised you. I cared for you more than I have any other being in this world. Is this what I deserve in repayment?”

“A second chance? Like the second chance you conveniently neglected to give my mother, the only one in the world who _truly_ cared for me at the time? And what was that line you always used to quote? Eh, can’t remember. It was always impossibly irritating listening to you. Something, something, second chances make you look lame, something. Who knows.”

The fallen tyrant’s eyes were filled with fury. “If this is how you wish it to end, then so be it. You will be the one to wreck everything the Ciphers have built over thousands of years. I hope your subjects tear you apart, bit by bit.”

And with those last words, the emperor set himself ablaze, ending his reign and his life, before anyone could do it for him.

“I was the first one to build it, I can wreck it if I want,” Bill shrugged, watching the scene dispassionately. “Good riddance, _father_.”

Dipper let out a long breath.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Epilogue_

_Months later_

 

“I keep telling you, Pine Tree. You can’t hold me accountable for stuff I did, like, millennia ago. I’m not even half as power crazy as you make me out to be! Do I like bossing people around? Sure! Do I want to sit on top of a tower constructed from the skulls of my enemies? No! Okay, admittedly that does sound pretty cool, but that’s not the point. I wanted power to topple that cretinous wretch of a man, delay the end of the world, and then maybe convince you to blow me or something. Is that so wrong?”

Dipper jabbed the demon in the ribs. “Don’t be so crude! Then why the hell are you still sulking over the fact that I sent the nightmare army home and closed the portal?”

“Just _one_ giant dance party with the terrifying beasts from hell—that’s all I was asking for! I’m a twenty-year-old boy, for the gods’ sakes. Believe it or not I don’t actually care that much about being a despot or terrorizing the masses or whatever. A wild rager—the craziest rager the world has ever seen! Maybe disco themed. That’s all I want out of life.”

“Holy shit, between dictator or massive fuck boy, I’m not sure which one’s worse,” Dipper lamented, head in his hands.

“And to be honest, I love people bowing down to me, making peons do my bidding, etcetera, but like, I have better things to do than _make policy_ , or whatever rulers are required to do. Maybe I should delegate. Or have the people do their own damned work for a change.”

“Wait, are you serious?” Dipper peered at his fiancé doubtfully. “You realize what you’re suggesting, yeah?”

Bill shrugged and stuffed a handful of cheese puffs into his mouth.

“Quit yammering, kids, and help me fix the ‘S’ on the roof. It’s fallen down, _again_ ,” Grunkle Stan called from the inside of the mystery shack, where he’d been working on something with Stanford.

Dipper sighed and got off the lawn chair, grumbling and tugging Bill by the hand. If he was honest with himself though, there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: gratuitous sex, restraints, dubious writing, possible plotholes (don't examine it too closely), unbetaed. As always, let me know if there's something else you think I should warn for here.
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> and it is DONE. thank you so much everyone for the support, and I'm so, SO sorry it took this long for me to finish it. don't stay in school, kids. drop out. it's terrible. but honestly, I literally could not have done it without all the encouragement. I love you all <3 im [here](http://goodluckinjail.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to talk and im always a slut for attention


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